


Thunderstorm

by JDominique37



Series: The Storm, the Stars, and the Skies (Kuroko no Basuke Stories) [5]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Original Character(s), Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, POV Original Female Character, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 14:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10165313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JDominique37/pseuds/JDominique37
Summary: He is like lightning, shining so brightly, with no form to his power. He compares me to thunder, strong and full of life. Doesn't he know, though? Lightning and thunder create a storm. Aomine/OC





	1. Chapter 1

Aomine Daiki is the biggest laziest jerk to ever walk the planet.

Naturally, that means I’m always stuck with him on group projects.

“What is this?” I demand, slamming his paper back onto his desk.

His eyes rove over me with a bored expression. “What is it now, Kaminari?”

“Don’t use my first name,” I snap at him. I point at the paper again. “Why is this all in katakana? Haven’t I told you before to write it properly?”

He glances down at the paper, then covers his mouth to hide a yawn.

Fury rises inside of me.

“Pay attention!”

“I am, I am! Geez. What are you, the teacher?”

I glower at him and lean halfway over his desk so I can point out his mistakes. “See this?” I say, and I tap two words on his paper with the eraser of my pencil. “These are the only words on the whole paper which should be in katakana. Everything else should be in kanji and hiragana. So before you turn it in, you’ll need to rewrite the whole thing. Don’t even think about making me do it, because I’m not. I’m only supposed to let you know my opinions and tell you if there’s anything that you should improve. Have you looked over mine yet —?”

“Tsuchiya, did you change your shampoo today?”

I jerk away from him, my face going red. “W-what are you talking about?”

He turns his face slightly, and leans back into his desk, hands going behind his head, eyes closing. For some reason, I get the idea he’s repressing another yawn. “You smell different today.”

“T-that’s none of your business!”

He opens one eye to look at me. “Oh? Well, carry on then. You can pretend I’m listening.”

Whatever discomfort I’d been feeling a moment ago vanishes. I pick up his paper and slap it straight onto his face.

He nearly leaps out of his desk. “Ow! What on earth? What was that for?”

“Jerk!” I shout.

And that is the relationship that currently exists between Aomine Daiki and me.

* * *

“Kami-chaaaaaan!”

Before I can dodge, my cousin Tamura Hana, throws herself onto me. I manage to keep both of us from falling to the floor by throwing my hand out onto the nearby wall, but my bag slips off my shoulder, my books and things spilling out.

“Hana!” I scold. “Look what you’ve done.”

“Sorry,” she says, not looking sorry at all. “Kami-chan, have you heard about the new transfer student? Have you seen him yet? He’s suuuuper cute. And I’ve heard he’s really smart, too. I bet even you’d like him.”

“I don’t have time to deal with things like that,” I say, bending down to pick up my things.

She joins me, oblivious to my comment. “He’s a third-year, so he’s probably more mature as well. His name is Matsuzaki Takatsugu.”

“Is that so?”

“How come you aren’t showing any interest at all?” Hana picks up the last book and hands it to me, glowering. “We’re in high school now, Kami-chan. You should really be paying more attention to boys. There are all sorts of them at Touou!”

“I think the main point of school is to learn things,” I say, frowning at her, “not to goggle at boys and argue over which ones you think are the best-looking.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Of course you’d say that. But you should give somebody a chance someday. You’ll be an old crone before you know it.”

I tap my head and grin. “At least I’ll be a wise old crone.”

Despite what she just said, she laughs with me, and as we walk together to the entrance of the school, we talk about the day’s events. She gives me the latest gossip about boys (what else), and I tell her about my latest problems with who I believe to be the laziest student in school.

“He can’t be that bad surely,” Hana says. “I have someone in my class who I swear picks his nose half the time and then sticks it under his desk! And let’s not forget about the one who I don’t think has even taken a shower in two weeks!”

I wrinkle my nose. “Okay, maybe he’s not _that_ bad. But why do I always have to be paired up with him?”

“It’s probably because your teacher thinks you’re the only one who can handle him. Teach him something. All the other kids probably would just join in his laziness, wouldn’t they? You’re the only one who doesn’t put up with him, so obviously that’s why Sensei grouped you with him! Because you’ll whip him into shape!”

“Hana, I hate that idea, but I suppose it actually makes some sense.”

She beams at me. “See, I can be smart sometimes, too!”

“Well, we _are_ related. I’m sure that if you put some more effort into your academics rather than magazines and boys then you’d be at the top of the class with me as well.”

She sighs. “But that’s just no fun. I want to enjoy my youth!” As she and I slip off our school shoes to exchange them for our normal ones, she asks, “Are you stopping by the bookstore today?”

I nod. “You coming along?”

“Not today, I don’t think. Mom wants me to make dinner. She’s having some people from work over or something. Wants me to whip up a dessert.” She shoots me a grin. “Been bragging to all her coworkers than I can make one mean pie.”

“That may be true, but to me, your homemade fudge will always be the best,” I say, shutting my locker, and smiling at her.

“You obsessed chocolate lover.”

“Are you kidding? Chocolate is the best thing ever! And you make the best fudge in the world!”

She shakes her head slightly, but she smiles from the praise. “Whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow!” She waves and dashes off.

I adjust my bag on my shoulder and begin walking away from the school. The bookstore isn’t too far from where I live, so I usually stop by after school before taking the train home. Hana says I’m obsessed with the small little shop at the corner of the street, but I think she secretly enjoys the time we spend there, too.

I first discovered the bookstore when I’d gotten lost in the city while trying to find a grocery store on the way home. After that, I began to immediately frequent it. As an avid reader and someone who disliked loud noises and busy crowds, it was a perfect fit for me. It’s a small, cozy place with tight and narrow shelves, but a horde of books to be perused through. The wallpaper is fading and the carpeting could be redone, but I sort of hope they never remodel. I like it the way it is, the peaceful way it currently feels.

The owner, Arakaki-san, has become quite familiar with me. Some days, when I have time, I’ll just browse the shelves and pick a book off at random to start reading. Others, I’ll sit down for a long chat with him and a cup of his hand-brewed coffee (a special for valued customers, he says). He’s full of knowledge and wisdom, and has the best and widest taste in books, always with another story lined up for me to read once I’ve finished the last he suggested.

Today, as I walk into the store, I actually have a book in mind, instead of my usual wandering. “Arakaki-san!” I call, announcing my presence.

I hear a shuffling from the back room and the door swings open to reveal Arakaki-san. He’s fairly short, only being a few inches taller than me in his older age. He has glasses, but only for reading, so whenever he’s not using them, they hang around his neck on a chain. Very old-fashioned, but you could say that that’s the epitome of Arakaki-san.

“Kaminari-chan!” he says, his voice full of glee. “I bet I can guess why you’re here today!”

I grin. “And what would that be, Arakaki-san?”

“The latest book of your favorite series?” he says, drawing the words out, a gleam in his eyes.

My grin widens. “You would be correct. Do you have it?”

“Ordered one just for you, my darling.”

“You always do know the way to my heart.”

He shuffles to the back room and after a few moments, a few exclamations of, “Oh, where did I put it?”, he emerges with a brown paper-wrapped package.

Despite myself, I let out a squeak of excitement as I take the book-shaped object into my hand. “Thank you! How much?” I begin to dig into my bag, but he interrupts me.

“This one’s on me, Kaminari-chan.”

“What? Are you serious?”

He nods, bowing his head slightly. “I’ve really enjoyed the time I spend with you. It’s been very precious to me. Consider this just a small token of my thanks.”

I give him a smile. “Thank you so much, Arakaki-san! I’ll go home and read it immediately.”

He laughs. “Don’t forget your homework.”

“Well, maybe not immediately,” I amend. “But I’ll at least get in a few chapters tonight!”

“You do that. Enjoy!”

* * *

I’m practically shaking with excitement by the time I get home, my hands itching to rip the paper off and dig into the book. But I try to never do more than glance at book and read its summary before actually starting it, and since I’ve been so hyped up for this one, I decide I will not even tempt myself with opening it in the store. Rather, I will wait until I have a good chunk of time to read it before I even open it.

So, like the dutiful girl I am, even though I want to begin reading right away, while away the night in my warm bed with my cat, Marshmallow, I carefully lay it on my desk, and try to forget about it enough to focus on my homework.

I manage to get in a good hour done before Mom and Dad return from their work for dinner. Mom knocks on my door, three short taps. “Kaminari? Your dad and I are home.”

I open the door for her and put on a grin. “Hey, Mom! Dad’s here, too? He’s early. Sorry, I didn’t get dinner started —”

She waves a hand. “That’s fine. You’ve been working on your homework, haven’t you?”

Nodding, I say, “I should only have to do a bit after dinner.”

“That’s great. I’m glad you’re putting so much effort into your work, but you can relax a bit sometimes, you know?”

I perk up at the thought, thinking about the unwrapped book on my desk, but then shake my head. “It’s my goal to get into a good college. I have to start now. The sooner I get a handle on things, the more prepared I’ll be for the future.”

“That’s very wise of you, but you’re also still just a kid. Kids just need to have fun sometimes. Don’t forget that.”

“You sound like Hana.”

“Well, she is my niece.” Mom slaps a hand onto my shoulder and grins. “Come on, then. Let’s go fix your dad something for dinner. I’m sure he’s starving by now.”

Considering my dad’s endless pit for a stomach, it’s probably not far from the truth.

* * *

 

After a quick dinner, I head back upstairs to finish writing a paper and read a short chapter for English. And then, and then . . . !

I take the package into my trembling hands. Finally. I slit the tape carefully, trying not to rip the paper, even though I want to tear through it with all my might. Hana thinks I’m nuts for getting so excited over things like this, but I don’t think she understands. How stories are so powerful, how they can creep into oneself and change you forever, for better or worse.

The wrappings fall off. I stare at the cover, and I’m fairly certain my mouth has fallen open. It’s so beautiful.

The cover is fairly simple, with a swirly heart and the title, but it’s so shiny and pretty, and it’s brand-new and _mine_. I love it already.

Even though I already know what the book’s about, having stalked the author’s social media page for months, I flip the book open and re-read the summary. It tells of the continued story of a girl and the boy she loves; he’s moving, and she doesn’t quite know how to express her feelings to him now that they’re going to be apart for a long time. What will happen?

I desperately want to know, so I turn to the first page, and am sucked into the story.


	2. Chapter 2

I stare down at my partner. Who is, of course, Aomine Daiki.

“I thought I told you to fix this!”

The whole paper is still written in katakana.

Anger boils up inside me. I crumple the paper and slam it into his face again.

“W-what!” He jerks up in his seat and turns to stare at me.

I shake the wrinkles out of the paper. “This! Fix it! Now! Otherwise . . . it’s not my fault if you fail this class!”

He squints at me. “Oh, that. I forgot to do it.”

Forgot to? Yeah, right. More like just didn’t care.

I sigh and throw the wrinkled, ruined, and hopeless paper onto his desk. “Whatever. I don’t care anymore. Do whatever you want.”

He frowns and leans back into his chair, throwing an arm carelessly onto the desk over the paper he clearly doesn’t care about either. “Ehh? Is that all?”

“What do you mean?”

“I just thought you’d try harder or something. Aren’t you like the top student in the class or something?”

“W-what are you talking about?” My face goes red. “I’ve already done everything! It’s just — just you that’s impossible!”

A smirk slides over his face which just serves to infuriate me further.

“You don’t try in anything! It’s like you think the whole world revolves around you! Just because you’re some big-star basketball player with a bit of talent or something! Well, I’m sick of it! And I’m sick of being your partner and doing all the work! I’m done!”

The class has fallen silent, and it takes me a moment to realize I’ve begun shouting. My face heats up. Aomine’s still smirking.

Nagano-sensei, our homeroom teacher, glances over nervously. “Um, Tsuchiya-san?” he says tentatively. “Could I speak with you a moment?”

This couldn’t get any worse.

I head out of the classroom with Nagano-sensei, and he leads me a few steps from the room before turning to me. “I didn’t know you felt that way, Tsuchiya-san,” he says. “I’m sorry. If you’d told me earlier —”

“I’m so sorry!” I bow down low before him. “I didn’t mean to say all of that! I was just a bit frustrated with Aomine-kun, and it burst out of me. Please, forgive me!”

Nagano-san lets out a breathy laugh. “Oh, don’t worry about any of that!” he says. “It’s all fine. I understand that some students may not work as well with others. In truth, I’ve been pairing you with Aomine-kun because I thought he might actually learn something from you, and that you could learn something from him as well. But if you’re that troubled by it . . .”

I take a step back, slightly stunned. It seems Hana was partly right. But what was that about me learning something from him? How could I learn anything from that idiot jerk?

When I don’t say anything, Nagano-sensei continues. “I would appreciate it very much if you tried again, Tsuchiya-san. I understand that Aomine-kun is a bit . . . difficult, but please believe me when I tell you that there’s much more to him than what there appears to be. If you could at least be friends with him, I would be very grateful to you.”

“You . . . want me to give him another chance?”

“Yes!” Nagano-sensei says, smiling with relief. “That would be wonderful if you could do that.”

“But I . . . are you sure someone else wouldn’t be better?”

“On the contrary, I think you two are a rather good pair.”

Nagano-sensei must be crazy, I decide. But since he asked me to, I will try again.

* * *

When I return to class, a few people cast me curious gazes, but most seem content to do their own work, for which I’m grateful. As I make my way back to my chair, Aomine’s gaze doesn’t waver from me the whole time. It makes me uncomfortable, the way he looks at me, but I try to ignore it.

Once I’m seated, he says, “How’d it go?”

“Like you care?”

“Well, it wouldn’t do me that good if I lost my partner.”

“Not that you care about me either.”

He stretches his legs out. “I mean, that’s true enough. I hardly know you, after all, but at least you’re better than the rest of the class.”

I stare at him. Did he just insult me then compliment me? 

Only him . . .

I shake my head, pushing the thoughts away.

And that’s when I look down at the piece of paper lying on his desk.

I blink a few times, trying to comprehend what I’m seeing.

Most of the katakana’s been erased. He’s only begun to rewrite a few lines the right way, but it’s a start.

I glance up at him to find him staring at me again, that odd way. He says, “Did I do it right?”

“You used the wrong kanji here,” I say, but my mouth feel dries.

“Really? I was almost certain it was right.”

“Maybe if you actually paid attention in class instead of sleeping, you would _know_ instead of just being _almost_ certain.”

He rolls his eyes as he erases the character I’d pointed out. “Oh, yeah? So what is it, Miss Smarty-pants?”

As I lean over between our desks to show him the correct kanji, for some reason I’m starkly aware of the small amount of distance between us.  

* * *

The way home is long and quiet. I’ve long since memorized the path, my feet familiarized with the streets, so I take a book out of my bag, and flip it open to read as I walk.

The sun is beginning to set, a mellow yellow circle in the sky, and I don’t hear them come close.

The first guy rips the book out of my hand, throwing it to the ground. 

“Hey!” I shout, my hand reaching out.

There are two of them, a few years older than me, probably in college. They sneer at me and glance all over my body, making me feel sick.

“You out enjoying the night?” the second guy asks, and he pastes a smile onto his face.

I swallow, and move to get my book, but the first blocks me, his hands stretching out beside him.

“Come on,” he says. “There are a lot more fun things than reading, you know.”

“No, thank you,” I say, and my voice comes out as a whisper.

The first guy nears me, his eyes gleaming, and he —

“Hey. Stop!”

The guys whirl around, their eyes widening. And then, as one, they both take off, casting me one last dirty glare.

I don’t stop to see and thank my savior. I quickly move to scoop up my book and then I’m running.


	3. Chapter 3

I’d received a lot of homework that day, so I’m stuck trying to get it all done the rest of the night, leaving me with no time to read my book. It sits untouched on my desk the whole time. Eventually, I have to hide it so it doesn’t tempt me.

The memory of what happened last time I tried to read it haunts me, but I push it away. Nothing happened, so I don’t need to worry about it.

The next day, though, I bring the book with me to school, hoping that I might have some free time during lunch.

With the time we had left yesterday, Aomine and I had managed to work through most of his paper, changing it from katakana to the proper forms. His grasp on kanji is awful, though, to say the least.

Today, he stalks into the classroom and slouches into the chair next to me, throwing his bag onto the floor.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to at least _look_ like you’re interested,” I say.

He tilts his head slightly in my direction. “But I’m not. So I don’t see the point.”

I sigh and lift my hands in surrender. “Did you at least do your homework today?”

“Ehh . . . perhaps?”

“I dislike the tone of your voice.”

“Big surprise there.”

Nagano-sensei gives us the morning announcements and while Aomine continues to lounge back, I pay attention and even take a few notes on some of the upcoming events in school. At one point, I sense him lean over to look at what I’m writing. He snorts, and I’m tempted to push him away, but can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he makes me uncomfortable, and I don’t really want to . . . touch him either.

He hovers near me for a few moments before dropping back into his chair with an audible huff. The next few classes pass without much incident; while his homework is far from ideal, at least he’s managed to do most of it.

I’m actually a bit surprised by the amount of work he’s clearly put into it. Perhaps my outburst yesterday actually had some effect on him.

“Hey, Kaminari,” he says during arts, glancing over my shoulder. “You’re actually pretty decent at this.”

I wrinkle my nose. Drawing is one of the few craftsy things I can do; Hana is much more skilled in the area of arts, cooking and baking, fashion, and, of course, boys. While me? I mostly just praise myself for my fast reading skills and ability to get my homework done on time. But I’m decent at drawing.

“What does yours look like?” I ask him, turning my gaze over to his desk.

Currently, we’re trying to reinvent a picture of our choosing in our own style with charcoal. I chose a picture that featured some deep purple chrysanthemums, while Aomine chose a basketball player (what else). It’s actually a rather ambitious picture since it’s harder to draw details with charcoal and the picture features the person mid-dunk with the ball nearly leaving his fingertips and the basket just inches away.

That’s what it’s supposed to look like at least. Right now, it currently appears to be a stick figure in the middle of the page, a ball (the only real recognizable thing in the drawing), and a large pole with a box on top which is what I assume is supposed to be the hoop. He’s also managed to smudge a copious amount of the charcoal on his fingers, and even some on his face from where he’s rubbed it without thinking.

I squint at the picture, trying to think up anything positive to say. Finally, after I can’t manage to say anything, he crumples the paper between his hands and says, “I’ll try something different then.”

 “It wasn’t —” I start.

“Don’t give me any crap like that. Didn’t I say that you’re better than any of the others? You don’t sugarcoat anything; you just say it as it is. Don’t start trying to be nice now. It just sounds fake.”

I stare at him. Swallow. “R-right.” I pause, then I let out a small laugh. “Actually, it was pretty bad.”

He blinks, then he flashes me a grin. “Can’t say drawing’s ever interested me after all.” He then turns in his seat and barks out, “Oi, Sakurai! C’mere! I need some tips.”

I lean slightly to get a better view as I watch a slim, mousy-haired boy jerk to attention at Aomine’s words. Sakurai Ryou. I don’t know a ton about him, though he’s a basketball player as well, and seems a bit shy. He also seems to enjoy reading manga as I sometimes see him with a volume during lunch.

The boy hurries over to Aomine’s side, an almost frantic look on his face. “S-so sorry, Aomine-san! What is it you need?”

Aomine taps the picture that he’d been trying to copy with charcoal and says, “You’re good at drawing, right? Tell me how I should do this.”

Sakurai pulls the picture closer to him and eyes Aomine’s sad representation of it. “U-um, I can try, Aomine-san. But I’m sorry if I can’t help at all. I’m sorry!”

I frown at him, and wonder if Aomine’s done something to him before to permanently scar him.

As Sakurai coaches Aomine into the finer points of using charcoal, I listen in, and actually hear some good tips as well. Who knew? The kid actually seems to be pretty talented. Using his advice, I redo my own picture, adding in more details and refining and darkening the edges.

“That’s actually pretty good, Miss!” Sakurai says.

I look up, surprised to find him and Aomine watching me, and his face goes red.

“I-I’m sorry!” he squeaks. “I didn’t mean to look! It was just —”

“Stop apologizing, Sakurai,” Aomine mutters. “Kaminari doesn’t care.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to call me that?” I say to Aomine. Then, to Sakurai, “Don’t worry about it. Here, tell me what you think.” I hold the picture up for him. “You’re clearly a lot better than me and I’d like your opinion.”

His eyes widen. “S-sure!”

* * *

I think our art teacher is fairly pleased with our work when we turn it in, thanks to Sakurai.

Lunch is next, so I gulp done my food as quick as I can before escaping from the classroom. Lots of times I like to go up to the roof to read, but the one I usually frequent is halfway across the grounds, so I take the quick route to the nearer roof. I’ve never visited it before, so there’s a chance someone else might be there. When I reach it, though, I’m relieved to see no one else.

I settle down near the edge, and pull my book out of my bag, emitting a happy sigh. I have about twenty minutes before I have to get back, so I should at least be able to get a couple chapters in.

A few minutes later, though, I’m so involved in the story, so caught up in the romantic troubles of the two protagonists, that I don’t notice him crouching in front of me until he snatches the book from my hands.

I let out a gasp, my mind flashing back to the night before.

But —

Aomine Daiki is squatting in front of me, squinting at the romance novel in his hands like it’s some strange puzzle. He flips the book open and to my absolute horror, he begins to read the summary out loud. “‘After finally capturing the boy of her heart, Akane is determined to make sure she and Keisuke have the best relationship that can be. But then the world threatens to tear them apart again when Keisuke reveals he’ll be moving away from Tokyo soon — what new challenges will the new couple face, and what lengths will Akane go to keep them together?’”

My cheeks are bright red.

Aomine snaps the book shut. “Who knew you read crap like this?”

“I-it’s not crap!”

“Well, it certainly sounds like it has a lot of depth to it.”

I ignore his sarcasm and say, “Why are you up here anyway? Did you follow me?”

He raises an eyebrow. “This is my roof,” he says. “I was actually surprised to see you here.”

“ _Your_ roof?”

“I mean, this is the first time I’ve ever seen anyone else up here. What made you decide to come up here, huh, Kaminari?”

“Stop calling me that! And give me my book back!”

He rolls his eyes, but obliges and hands the novel over. I hug it to my chest for a moment before depositing it back into my bag. It looks like I won’t be getting any reading done today.

“Is there where you go when you skip class?” I say, an accusing tone in my voice.

He lets out a restrained yawn. “Maybe. Why does it matter to you? Gonna rat me out?”

“I don’t particularly care. I was just wanting to know so I could make sure never to come here again.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Wow. Harsh. I mean, I knew you despised me and all . . .”

It’s not exactly that I despise him . . . more like I just can’t stand him.

I tell him as much, and he lets out a harsh laugh. “That’s much better, isn’t it?” His voice is laced with sarcasm.

“You’re the one who told me to speak my mind.”

“True enough.” He leans forward, planting his hands on the ground for purchase. “So tell me, Tsuchiya. Whatcha thinking right now?”

I lean back slightly, unnerved. “Please don’t tell anyone about — about the book.”

He pauses. “You don’t want anyone to know you like to read romance?”

“It’s not quite something that I would enjoy people knowing about me.”

“You actually like stuff like that?”

“Some of them are pretty good!” I defend myself. “So, please, don’t tell anyone, okay?”

He stares at me for a few moments. Then he rolls back to lie down on the ground, his eyes closing, the perfect picture of being at ease, without a care in the world. “Sure, sure,” he says. “I won’t tell.”

“Thank you —”

“But on one condition.”

I should’ve known this was coming. Of course dealing with Aomine wouldn’t be so easy as just asking him and him easily agreeing to my terms. With him, there’s always something else.

I wonder what he’s going to say. Ask for dinner? A new pair of basketball shoes? Maybe he’ll make me do all his homework from now on. But still, I really don’t want people to know that Tsuchiya Kaminari is a sucker for romance and sob stories. It’s not a good spot on my image.

“I’ll do anything,” I start. “My cousin makes really good desserts. Or I could —”

He opens one eye to look at me.

Then he says,

“Be my girlfriend.”


	4. Chapter 4

I burst out laughing.

_Be my girlfriend._

The idea is so preposterous that he can’t possibly be serious.

Looking back on it, laughing might’ve not been the best choice, but perhaps I was so shocked that my body just reacted without thinking.

Still lying on the ground, Aomine just sighs, looking up at the sky as he waits for me to finish. He even has the nerve to close his eyes again.

I suddenly stop laughing.

“Wait,” I say. I hold my hands up before me. “What did you just say?”

He cracks his eyes open into slits. “Do I have to repeat myself?”

I move over to him so I’m standing right beside him and lean over to stare him straight in the eyes for emphasis. “What. Did. You. Say?” I ask, punctuating each word deliberately.

“Be my girlfriend. Go out with me. If you do that, I won’t tell anyone about your guilty pleasure.”

“My — my —” I stutter, my face going completely red. “Why, you —”

He sits up suddenly, and our heads almost collide. I wheel backwards, my hand wind milling around me, and fall onto my bottom. Just as quickly, he turns until he’s right in front of me. Our positions are now reversed — me on the ground, him towering over me.

For a moment, I just stare at him. When I first saw Aomine Daiki, I wasn’t sure what to think of him. He was different than the other boys, that’s for sure. He had tanned skin, navy-colored hair, and intense, dark eyes, and carried an air of both carelessness and arrogance.  

I was a little curious about him at first. Apparently he was some big-shot basketball player and our school was really lucky to have him, and I wondered what someone like that was. However, I quickly learned that probably because he was so talented, it meant he didn’t care one bit about his education. In other words, he was lazy. Didn’t do any of his work. Skipped classes half the time, leaving me without a partner.

As I stare at him now, I wonder if anything’s changed since I met him. It’s only shortly after the beginning of second-term. From what I’ve heard from people in class and Hana (who hears plenty of gossip herself and likes to pass it onto me since I complain about him so much), Touou placed second in the Inter-High, the summer basketball competition. I really couldn’t care much about that, but apparently a lot of it was due to the fact that we acquired the ace of the Generation of Miracles himself: Aomine Daiki.

Still, sometimes I can’t compute the boy I know in class with the tales of the amazing basketball player I hear about.

And now, the boy staring at me.

His eyes, which usually carry a look of apathy — and sometimes even distaste — in them, are focused completely on me. I take in the creases in his forehead, the sharpness of his eyes, and then, the shape of his mouth as he opens it to say something to me.

“It’s your choice, of course. But it works out for both of us. Satsuki’s been bothering me lately, saying I should make some friends or something. And you get to keep your precious secret.”

“Satsuki?” I say, that being the only thing that registered. “Who’s that?”

“Momoi Satsuki. She’s the manager of the team.”

A girl, then. “Wouldn’t you rather go out with her?” I say, unable to think of anything else.

He stares at me for a few seconds, then lets out a laugh. “Go out with Satsuki? Are you kidding? We’ve been friends for ages. That’s disgusting. She’s like my sister.”

Oh, so that’s how it is.

“But . . . ,” I venture, “we’re nothing alike. We have nothing in common. We don’t even _like_ each other. So why on earth . . .”

“Simple,” he says. “I need to get Satsuki off my case. And there have even been some other annoying girls . . .” He trails off, glancing at me, then shrugs. “The point is, there’s really no chance either of us will fall in love with the other, is there?”

He says it so bluntly it’s almost offensive.

It’s true, though.

Something similar to a shockwave runs through me. I shake myself slightly. Then I glare at him. His lips twitch with something akin to amusement which only makes me angrier.

“You’re such a jerk!” I say. “Blackmailing me into this! I can’t believe you!”

“It’d be beneficial to you, too,” he says, shrugging again like he really doesn’t care what my opinion of him is. “Haven’t you noticed that everyone’s been splitting up into couples lately? As the holidays near, it’ll only get worse. People will wonder about you. This way —”

“Basically,” I say, “you want to say we’re in a relationship so people stop bothering you to get a girlfriend. But not really commit to one. Let me guess: all you care about is basketball?”

He gives me a long look, and for some reason, I get the idea that his relationship with the sport is more complicated than the usual jock’s. I take a step back and my back hits the railing of the roof. My hands reaches out behind me to grab the metal to support myself.

I can’t believe this.

Just a few moments ago, it even seemed like we were getting along okay for once. And now . . . blackmail. Seriously? He wants me to be his girlfriend? And he . . . he would be my boyfriend?

And even though it wouldn’t really be real, everyone would think it was. So technically, it’d still be my first relationship.

But what he said was somewhat true. Hana has been chattering way too often about finding boyfriends and my lack of interest in the opposite sex. This would put a stop to her non-stop babbling. And perhaps being the girlfriend of a popular basketball player wouldn’t be so bad. Like he said, I would have no real obligations to the relationship either, so I could continue spending as much time as I wanted on my homework and reading.

Most of all, there’s the fact that if I don’t, he’ll tell everyone about the romance novel.

“If we do it,” I hedge, “there’d have to be some ground rules.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Of course.”

“And to keep up appearances, I suppose we’d have to go on a _few_ dates.” I cringe at the thought of spending a few hours alone with him. “But otherwise, no excessive touching. Definitely no kissing.” I blush just at saying the word. “If I think of any more, I’ll let you know, okay?”

“So you’re agreeing to it?”

I hesitate.

He shifts his weight, cocks his head, that unwavering stare of his on me.

I say, “All right. I’ll be your girlfriend. In name only.”

He smiles, a sort of victorious, self-satisfied smile, that makes me a bit sick.

“Don’t you get any weird ideas about this,” I warn him, pointing a finger. “And don’t even think about blackmailing me any further. You’ve already cashed it in. And don’t you —”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Stop worrying so much, Kaminari.”

“For the last time, I told you to stop calling me that!”

“But we’re boyfriend and girlfriend now.”

My cheeks flame at hearing the words said aloud. “That — that doesn’t mean anything!”

“Sure, whatever. Kaminari.”

“You’re doing that just to spite me, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t deny it, but stands up, holding a hand out to help me up as well. I want to decline, refuse it, but then I remember the deal we just made, and I accept his outstretched hand. It’s surprisingly warm, almost hot, and as he pulls me to my feet easily, I feel oddly breathless.

As we head toward the edge of the roof, I pause momentarily, and say, “One last question.”

“Mmm?”

“What makes you think you won’t fall in love with me?”

He turns to face me. This his eyes drop down.

I let out a loud shriek, my face going red, and dash away from him, slamming him back when he tries to follow me.

I can’t believe what I’ve just gotten myself into. A surety flows within me: the certainty that I will never, ever fall in love with him.


	5. Chapter 5

For the first time in my life, I am nearly late to class. Of course, I blame it all on him. It’s his fault that he had to throw me in this position, stun me speechless, and as I’m running away from him, silently rebuking myself for ever accepting his deal, I realize that I have less than a minute to get to class.

I burst through the doors of the room with a few seconds to spare, and everyone stares at me, wide-eyed. They are not used to seeing me, the straight-A student, the uptight and always-by-the-books girl, running late.

I pause by the door for a few moments to catch my breath.

Then I hear a voice behind me. “Oi, stop blocking the door, Kaminari.”

I let out a small squeak, and dart out of his way. Aomine saunters in behind me, his eyes flicking briefly to me before making his way to his desk. I follow him apprehensively. I wonder exactly how we’re going to announce our . . . relationship. Now? Later? Tomorrow? Or just whenever appropriate?

I slide into my seat next to him and immediately begin fidgeting, hyperaware of his presence next to me.

“Kaminari,” Aomine says next to me, his deep voice sounding bored. “You look like there’s a spider crawling up your shirt.”

I stop moving and shoot a glare at him. “No doubt it would’ve been put there by you.”

“Just stop twitching, okay? Next thing I know, you’re going to start acting like Sakurai.”

Unlikely, but . . .

I take in several deep breaths and try to calm myself. Clench and unclench my hands into fists. Finally, I feel myself relaxing. It’s true I’ve never had a boyfriend before and never really even thought seriously about having one, but since this isn’t a _real_ relationship, all I have to worry about is keeping up the act.

Still, I wish that I could have had someone I actually liked as my first boyfriend. Even if it’s in name only. Like Hana said earlier, I suppose Aomine isn’t the worst it could be. He’s not awful-looking and he’s not disgusting, but he can be rude and he’s lazy.

Definitely not my type.

Not that I even know what my type is.

I sigh and roll the sleeves of my uniform up slightly. Today is going to be a long day.

* * *

Even though I know it can’t be helped, to my dismay, Aomine trails after me following our last class. While I’m changing my shoes out, he disappears momentarily, presumably to exchange his own as well. He returns moments later having done just that.

“You going home now?” he asks.

I briefly consider stopping by the bookstore, but since that’s part of the reason that got me stuck in this mess in the first place, I decide to forego it. Besides, Aomine probably can’t follow me into my house. It’s still too early to meet my parents. Right?

I nod. “Don’t you have basketball practice?”

“I’m skipping.”

Figures.

“Where do you live, then?” he asks, slinging his bag over his shoulder, as I begin to walk out of the school building.

“I ride the train here,” I reply.

“A bit out of the way,” he says, “but I’ll walk you home.”

“You don’t have to.”

“That’s what couples do.”

“We’re not a couple. Isn’t this supposed to be a relationship without the obligations?”

“Sure, sure. But shouldn’t I at least know where you live? It’d be weird if I didn’t know where my girlfriend’s house was.”

I suppose that’s true. I relent. “Fine, whatever.”

And that’s how I end up walking home with Aomine Daiki.

On the train ride, we stand by each other in silence. I really want to just whip my book out and start reading, but even the thought of him seeing the cover again makes me want to puke. So I stare off into the distance, my eyes glazing over as the city buildings pass by, and people rush past us to get on and off for their stops.

After what feels like an eternity, we reach my stop. The train slows to a halt, but in my rush and eagerness to get moving, I’d already begun to step toward the door before it had stopped all the way. I trip as it jerks completely to a rest and nearly fall over. Aomine’s hand darts out to grab my arm. His grip is firm around my forearm, and he hauls me upright once again. He barely glances at me as my face goes red and I mutter an apology to him; my almost trip is like nothing to him.

My house is ten minutes away from the train station. I can’t bear the thought of ten minutes alone with Aomine, without even crowds to cushion my presence alone with him, so I quicken my pace. Maybe I can manage to make it there in half the time. And making it a short trip would be better for more than one reason, too — I don’t want to dwell on what happened last time I let myself take it slow.

“Oi, Kaminari,” he complains after a few minutes of my speed-walking. “What are you in such a hurry for?”

“Can’t keep up?” I ask, but I’m huffing. I’m definitely no athlete. “Aren’t you such a hotshot basketball player?”

“I play _basketball_. That doesn’t mean I like _walking_.”

“Don’t be so picky. Exercise is exercise.”

“Says the girl who’s red as a tomato in the face and looks like she’s about to pass out.”

I stop so suddenly he rams into me and stumbles back a few steps.

“Do you have to speak to me like that?” I ask.

“What?”

“Well, I — I’m your girlfriend now, aren’t I?” I stutter out. I’m sure my face has gotten even redder now, if possible. “Shouldn’t you treat me with more respect?”

He stares at me for a few minutes, his hands in his pockets.

I wait a few seconds. I don’t want to look him in his eyes, because they’re so . . . dark and full of something I can’t quite describe. But I force myself to. I want to get my point across.

He takes a step forward. He’s a lot taller than me, probably around a foot, so it’s almost intimidating in a way. I want to move backward, move away from him, and never have to deal with him again; but I swallow all of that, and stay where I am, unwavering in both my stare and stance.

Finally, he says, “All right, then.”

He agreed?

I won?

He turns his head. Gazes up at the sky, the lowering sun and the clouds flitting across its light. He looks rather introspective.

For a moment, I just stare at his profile. And I wonder what kind of person exactly he is. What layers are underneath the outward appearance he puts on; the one I’d only seen until now.

He turns his gaze back to me, and at my stare, a look of something almost like uncertainty flashes through his eyes. “Kaminari?” he says.

I jolt slightly. “Oh, sorry. Um. My house . . . it’s not too far from here. Let’s go. Shall we?”

And then, before I can embarrass myself further, I turn on my heel and I begin walking quickly toward home.

I hear him huff behind me, and he says, “Again with the hurry!”

I think about replying, but instead, I just smile to myself.

* * *

“I’m home!” I call. It’s a Friday, which means it’s Dad’s early day. When I get off school on these days, he always likes to bake me snacks to greet me. Can’t say I complain, but sometimes some of his snacks are more . . . outlandish.

“Good afternoon, Kaminari!” he says, catching sight of me from the kitchen. The rich smell of chocolate welcomes me and I perk up, actually interested in his concoction for once. “How was school today?”

I grimace, not wanting to talk about it, but knowing he won’t leave it be. “It was fine,” I say. “My partner and I managed to work on some projects well.”

Or better than ever, at least, I suppose.

“That’s good,” he says.

“What are you making today?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Ah, I’m sure you’ll like it,” he says, though he says that every week. “It’s a chocolate tart.”

“Sounds like something Hana would make.”

“Indeed. Maybe I should give her the recipe. I’m sure she could improve it.”

Dad, like me, is a very by-the-books person, even if he tends to try wild recipes. However, Hana likes to be innovative, often going off her intuition to cook things. Sometimes she’ll just throw random ingredients together and it’ll turn out wonderful.

“It sounds and smells great,” I say, sliding into the chair at the counter and watching him put the finishing touches on the tarts. There are just a few of them, even though they are quite small. They’re round, with a dollop of rich chocolate in the center, which he swirls to a beautiful point before handing to me.

I pop it whole into my mouth and savor the flavor as the whole thing melts onto my tongue. “Amazing!” I say.

“Of course, you’d say that about anything chocolate.”

“Chocolate’s just amazing. You’d have to try to go wrong with chocolate.”

He smiles. “Do you have more homework to do tonight?”

“Actually not that much,” I say, “but I was wanting to start working ahead on the next unit for English. And we have a test coming up in two weeks, so I need to begin studying for that.”

Dad shakes his head slightly. “You work so hard, Kaminari. And here I was, wondering if you wanted to watch a movie tonight or something.”

I pause. “Oh, well —”

“It’s fine,” he assures me. “I’m glad that you have big goals and that you’re determined and motivated to reach them. Just don’t lose sight of what it is you’re really aiming for, okay?”

I shift uneasily in my seat and distract myself by licking some of the spare chocolate off my fingers.

What I’m really aiming for.

A solid future. A place in life where I won’t have to worry about money or status or anything else. Where I can be confident in who I am. Happy. That’s what I want.

On my current path, that’s what I’m going to get, too, right?


	6. Chapter 6

“Why in the world are you here?”

Aomine Daiki stands in front of my apartment door, hands in his pockets, a surly expression on his face. He covers his mouth to hide a yawn, and his eyes squint at me. “Do you know how early I had to get up to get here in time to walk you to school?” he says.

“You don’t even have to walk me to school! So why are you here?”

“Because, Kaminari,” he says, putting a certain emphasis on my name that I don’t particularly care for, “we’re boyfriend and girlfriend now. And we need at to at least look like it. If we show up at school together, it’ll be obvious. I won’t need to tell anyone that way.”

“You didn’t want to tell anyone outright?” I ask, a little stunned. “You just wanted to spread rumors, then confirm them?”

“Sounds about right. Now, c’mon. We’re gonna be late if you keep dawdling.”

“Why, you —”

I huff, and grab my bag from the floor, and then with as much force as I can manage, I sling it at him. He catches it with ease, but there’s a look of surprise on his face. I get a burst of pleasure from it.

“Since you’re my boyfriend now,” I say, pointing a finger at him, “you can carry my books.”

“What all do you have in here?” he asks, and he opens the bag slightly to peer inside. “My goodness, how much do you _read_?”

I slap one of his hands away from the opening. “Don’t peek, jerk!” I say. “That’s my personal stuff. Don’t be such a creep.”

“Why does it matter? They’re all just books. I don’t care what you read.”

My face goes red, thinking of just how we got into this mess in the first place.

“You really don’t?” I say, my voice cracking a bit.

We stop at a corner to wait for a car to pass and he pauses, thinking over his answer. Even after the car has long since gone, we don’t move.

He says, “You can like whatever you like. Allow me to like whatever I like. Is that not how it should be?”

“Most people would say that,” I say, “but not many actually put it into practice.”

In truth, I’m surprised by him. I thought he would’ve been a more judgmental person, arrogant, and thinking highly of his opinions only. But he seems oddly open and perceptive of things other people care about.

This time, when we take the train, I try to stand a bit farther away from him. I wonder if he notices. If he does, it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. Honestly, there seems to be little that bothers him. It’s mostly like he’s a statue, immovable, untouchable, and almost unfeeling. But there are some moments . . .

When the train stops, he lets me get off first, and holds a hand out to halt a man who’d almost collided into me, too much in a hurry to notice either of us.

“S-sorry,” the man says, rushing off without giving us another look.

Aomine clucks his tongue.

“Do you dislike people like that?” I ask him as we take the street to school.

“Not necessarily,” he answers, which is not really an answer at all.

A few minutes later, we’re surrounded by a few other Touou students, and even though Aomine and I hadn’t been talking in the first place, I feel like it’s become even more silent between us. Despite the warm, late summer wind winding between us, and the chatter of the other students who are eager to start their morning, there seems to be a wall of ice separating us.

I’m not quite sure if I want to break it or not.

As the crowd of students thicken around us, I see a few people shooting us curious stares. I know they could care less about me; it is only the fact that Aomine Daiki is walking into school next to some girl that they’re wondering about. Someone who is not the Momoi Satsuki he mentioned earlier.

I try to ignore the stares as best as I can, but as even more people begin to surround us, lifting their hands to their mouths to cover their whispers, but their words still audible, I find it increasingly hard.

“Aomine,” I whisper, nudging his arm. “Are you sure about this?”

“Getting cold feet?”

Like usual, he doesn’t seem bothered.

“It’s just that . . .”

“Aomine-kuuuun!” a voice shouts out.

We pause in the middle of the hallway and I spot a pink-haired girl with a sour expression on her face making her way through the crowd toward us. This must be the Momoi Satsuki he mentioned.  

“Where were you yesterday?” she cries, reaching us and throwing a punch at him. “Imayoshi-senpai told you to make sure to make it to practice, didn’t he? And you didn’t show up at all!”

“I had something to attend to,” Aomine says, his back stiff.

“Like what?” The girl’s eyes dart over to me and she frowns, a line creasing her brow.

And then Aomine shocks us both and throws a lazy arm around my shoulders. He says, “I had to escort my girlfriend home. Surely you can’t object to that, Satsuki? Her home’s pretty far from here. Didn’t want her going back alone.”

“Your — your _girlfriend_?” Momoi practically shouts the word, and I cringe as half of the heads in the hallway turn our way.

“No way!” I hear someone say. “Aomine Daiki has a girlfriend?”

“That girl?” another one says, a tall, pretty girl who looks at me with disdain. “He could do better than that.”

“Can’t believe Aomine would even go for a girl,” a boy right next to me mutters, and I jump despite myself. Aomine’s arm around me keeps me centered, though. It lies across my shoulders, heavy and strangely hot.

“I — I didn’t even know you were interested in someone,” Momoi says, wide-eyed, and there’s almost a sound of hurt in her voice.

“Like I would tell you,” Aomine says, rolling his eyes.

I’m a little shocked by his treatment of her, but judging by Momoi’s expression, it’s common enough. She makes a face and glances at me, obviously curious. I attempt a smile and hope that it’s pleasant.  

“C-come on, Aomine,” I say, and I shift underneath his arm, hoping he’ll get the hint and move it. “Let’s get to class or we’ll be late.”

I wish he hadn’t made the announcement so public, but I suppose it can’t be helped.

He nods, not looking at me, and without moving his arm, grips my shoulder and steers me toward the classroom. I hear a few more gasps and wonderings from the people around me, and try to ignore them as best as I can.

This is going wonderfully already, I can just tell.

* * *

“Aomine-san!” Sakurai nearly launches himself at Aomine, but the latter neatly dodges out of the way. “Is it true you really have a girlfriend?”

“Sure it is,” Aomine says, sounding as bored as usual. “Kaminari.”

“Kaminari what?” Sakurai blinks.

“Kaminari’s my girlfriend.”

Sakurai turns to stare at me. Then, he dips into a bow so fast I start. “I’m so sorry!” he says. “I’m so sorry! Tsuchiya-san, please forgive me! I didn’t know. I’m so sorry!”

“No, no, it’s fine,” I say, holding up a hand. I try to smile at him, but only manage a kind of grimace. “It’s okay. I can see why you’re . . . confused.”

I’m the last person you would expect Aomine Daiki to date. Which is perhaps why we’re trying to pull off this farce.

“But — but that’s amazing!” Sakurai says, lifting his head slightly. “You two are dating? I don’t believe it!”

Me neither, Sakurai. Me neither.

“Attention, class!” Nagano-sensei calls. “It’s time for morning announcements. Please get into your seats. There, there. Quiet down.”

Sakurai returns to his desk, and while Aomine flops down into his and immediately lays his head down and presumably falls asleep, I sit up straight and try to concentrate on the announcements. I’m unable to, though. Because try as I might, all I can think of is the boy who is sitting right beside me, his shock of dark blue hair, his closed eyes, and the parts of his face I can see appearing almost . . . peaceful-looking.

* * *

“What is this, Kami-chan?” A voice cries out at me.

Someone runs straight into my back and I stumble forward. Aomine’s arm snaps forward to steady me. By now, he’s probably getting tired of keeping me upright.

I turn around to see none other than Hana staring at me, wide-eyed. She then switches her gaze to Aomine, whose hand is still attached to my arm. He lets go, but her eyes stay on him, her mouth slightly open.

“Is it true?” she asks, her voice barely higher than a whisper. “Is he really your boyfriend?”

I let out a long sigh. The number of times we’ve been asked that today . . . Most of the times Aomine’s the one who will confirm it, and I’ll just stand frozen beside him.

Now I glance toward Aomine, but when it’s clear he’s not going to answer, I say, “It’s true.”

Hana lets out a loud squeal and jumps up and down. “I can’t believe it! Didn’t you hate this guy yesterday?”

Aomine and I both frown. Hana continues on as if she hadn’t noticed (which she might not have, knowing her).

“And now you two are dating? That is so cute! I mean, it’s like a manga story! The two people who hate each other the most and annoy the other to bits realize they secretly love each other, and when one confesses their love, the other realizes that they, too, are in love, and they decide to date — and ahh, it’s so perfect!”

I stare at her. Can she even breathe? “Hana, it’s not like that,” I manage to say. “He and I just . . .”

Just what? I glance at Aomine again, not sure of what to say, and this time he speaks up.

Except when I hear what he says, I decide I shouldn’t have let him speak after all.

“I’ve always had a crush on Kaminari,” he says, shrugging. “I just managed to finally ask her out yesterday.”

He says it without even blushing or his voice cracking. Knowing him, his heart probably didn’t even stutter. How. On. Earth.

My face is completely stained red, though.

“That’s amazing,” Hana gushes. “I knew it! I knew there was always something going on between you and Aomine-kun.”

Yeah, something all right.

I manage to smile. “Y-yeah. I was a bit surprised, but . . .”

“But you realized you loved him as well! That’s so _sweet_!”

Even though she’s completely wrong, her enthusiasm is kind of contagious. I laugh and say, “Enough of that. How was your day?”

“Not nearly as exciting as yours, I’m sure. Man, I want a boyfriend, too!”

I’m sure they’re not all cracked up as they’re made up to be, is what I want to tell her, but instead I just smile and say, “I’m sure you’ll find someone someday.”

“And he’ll be perfect.” She sighs happily. “Are you going to the bookstore, Kami-chan?”

I’m about to say no but Aomine cuts in and says, “Yeah. She told me she’d show it to me.”

Hana beams. “That’s such a cool date. A nice, old bookstore? So sweet.”

A bookstore? Really?

When Hana’s distracted, I turn and glare at Aomine. He just smirks.

* * *

Hana says she’s going on home because she has a bunch of homework to do tonight, but as she leaves, she winks at me, and I get the real reason why. I want to strangle her.

As we leave school, I hear more whispers around us, and even though I’ve been practicing all day to try and ignore them, they still grate against my ears.

“You’re skipping practice again?” I ask him. “Do you _ever_ go?”

“When I feel like it,” he replies.

I shake my head, not even bothering to say anything to that. There’s no working with this guy.

“Why aren’t you in a club, Kaminari?” he asks me.

“Hmm? Well, I was going to join one, but . . . I decided to focus mainly on my homework this year and to work ahead on other things. I’m doing a lot of volunteer work in other areas as well. I suppose I might join a club next year, though. What about you? Have you always been in the basketball club?”

“Pretty much.”

“I thought so. Since you’re supposed to be so good and everything.”

“You sound like you doubt me.”

“Well, I’ve never actually seen you play.”

“You haven’t?” He sounds almost shocked.

“Yeah. Why are you so surprised? Do you think I actually would have taken time out of my day to go see one of your games? I wasn’t even your friend before.”

“True enough.”

“So, tell me, are you actually any good? Or are the rumors just that — rumors?”

We walk for a few moments in silence. Then he says, “I’ll let you see for yourself. I have a game coming up next Saturday. As my girlfriend, you should come.”

Oh, right. I suppose I have to attend basketball games now.

“I know next to nothing about basketball, you know.”

“I could teach you.”

“No, thanks. I don’t really want to waste any time learning the details. I can just watch it and still enjoy it, right? If someone dunks in one hoop, they get a point. If the others dunk in the other hoop, they get a point. Simple.”

He stops and stares at me.

I grin impishly at him, and he just shakes his head. “You don’t understand at all, do you?” he asks.

“Sports have never been my thing,” I say. “I’m dead clumsy and have no taste for anything exercise-related.”

“Mmm. I don’t think I could’ve figured that out at all.”

“Hey!” I say indignantly.

He laughs then and whatever irritation I’d had at him dissipates at the sound. It’s a more genuine laugh than I’ve heard before and it’s rather . . . pleasant-sounding.

“The bookstore isn’t too far from here,” I mutter.

“You come here a lot?”

I nod.

“Thought so. Judging by the monstrous amount of books in this bag of yours.” He hefts my bag that’s looped around his shoulder, eyeing it with distaste.

“Those are mostly school books,” I tell him.

“I don’t have any of these!”

“Well, there are a few extras,” I admit. “An English dictionary. A thesaurus.” I continue to name off a few more, and I swear his eyebrows raise higher and higher at each one.

“Do you even have time to eat and sleep with all these books you read?” he asks me.

“I get plenty of sleep,” I say. “Sleep is necessary to staying healthy, so I always make sure I get the proper amount in each night.”

“Wow. You really are in a different class than the other kids.”

I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not.

We finally reach the bookstore, and Aomine opens the door for me.

“Arakaki-san!” I call out. “Hello?”

“Kaminari-chan!” Arakaki says, emerging from one of the shelves. “I missed you yesterday — oh!” He catches sight of Aomine and his eyes widen. “Who’s this?”

“This is Aomine Daiki,” I say. “He’s my . . . boyfriend.”

Arakaki’s eyes get even bigger. I tell him a lot of things and have probably even mentioned Aomine before. But never as a potential boyfriend, or even a crush. This development must be quite a twist for him.

“Well, welcome!” he says, getting over his initial surprise. “Would you two like some coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.”

“That’d be lovely,” I say, and I make my way to the chairs near the side of the store. I point out various features of the place to Aomine along the way.

Arakaki brings us out our coffee, and I immediately takes a few sips of the piping hot liquid, savoring the sweet bitterness, but Aomine doesn’t touch his. He stares out the window, leaning back in his chair like he already owns the place.

“Do you not like coffee?” I ask him, frowning.

He stares down at his cup. “It’s too bitter for me,” he says.

What kind of person did I choose to be my boyfriend?

Fake boyfriend.

But still.

“You can put more creamer in it,” I say. “Have you tried it like that before? It’s really nice and sweet, then.”

He eyes me suspiciously, but when he doesn’t object, I call Arakaki over for some more creamer which he happily brings, saying he always prefer sweet things as well.

I pour a copious amount of creamer into Aomine’s coffee, then slide his cup closer to him. “Try it now,” I coax. “It’s good, I promise.”

He stares at it for several moments like it’s dangerous and I almost laugh. Finally, though, he grips the handle of the cup, and lifts it to his lips. He takes a long, slow sip before lowering it.

“How was it?” I ask. “Good, right?”

“It’s . . . not too bad.”

I grin. “Don’t be so modest. It was awesome, I know. You know what’s really good? Chocolate and coffee together. It’s amazing. Though chocolate’s great with everything . . .”

I trail off, realizing that he’s staring at me with amusement. He takes another sip of the coffee and I feel strangely victorious and quite proud of myself.


	7. Chapter 7

Aomine leaves after the bookstore. I tell him that now that he knows where I live, he no longer needs to walk me home. However, he argues that we should still keep appearances. So we form a truce, and create a halfway meeting point, so that we can arrive and leave the school together, but he doesn’t have to walk me all the way home.

Even though it’s only been twice, it suddenly seems odd to ride the train alone. It’s like something’s missing, even though I still hardly know him.

The walk home seems similarly quiet, like now that I’ve known having someone near me, it’s now foreign to be alone once again. I wish I could go back to how it was. I miss being comfortable with myself.

I shiver, and rub my shirt sleeve against my skin. Even though I know the likelihood of an incident happening between me and those two college guys happening again is slight, I can’t help but think . . .

Just as I’m thinking that, I hear a voice to my right. “Miss?”

I swing around to see a tall boy dressed in the Touou uniform. He looks to maybe be a bit older than me. A third-year perhaps. I’ve never seen him before, which is odd, especially if he’s taking the same street as I am.

“H-hello,” I say.

He smiles, and I notice that he’s rather good-looking. He has light brown hair, and his eyes are a warm brown color. He’s tall and well-muscled, too. “So you go to Touou?” he says. “I’m Matsuzaki Takatsugu. I’m a third-year. I just transferred to this school, so it’s still all a bit new to me.”

His name and explanation rings a bell in my memory, and I remember Hana telling me about him. She said that he was super cute, smart, and probably more mature since he was two years older than us. He is cute. I don’t know about the other stuff, but he seems nice enough at least.

“Well, welcome to Touou then,” I say. “I’m Tsuchiya Kaminari. First-year.”

“You live around here?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m in the apartment complex two blocks down.”

His eyes light up. “Me, too!”

I cock my head.

He says, “Wanna walk the last few steps back together, then?”

“Sounds great,” I say.

He grins and as we begin to walk, he asks me a few more questions. “So, are you in a club?”

“No,” I say. “I was going to join one, but decided not to.”

“I don’t know if I’m going to join one yet,” he says. “And I don’t know if I’d do a sports or a culture one. It’s so hard to chose.”

I nod. “I get that. Are there any sports you really like?”

He pauses. “Well, I like to swim. I suppose basketball’s good, too.”

Of course he had to like basketball.

“What about hobbies?” I ask. “Do you like literature or anything in particular?”

“I love to read,” he says, “but I’m not quite sure a literature club is for me. I prefer to read at my own pace and read what I like to read. You know? Do you read a lot?”

I grab a hold of the subject. “Yes! Reading is . . . it’s kind of a passion of mine.”

His eyes light up. “Really? What kind of books do you like to read?”

I pause and my cheeks flush somewhat. “Well . . . things that actually have a good story to them. Something that makes me _feel_ something. Where I can connect to the characters, understand them, and learn to love them.”

As I talk, I realize there’s a smile growing on his face. I stop, and he says, “I understand you perfectly. That’s how I feel, too. Books have a way of crawling inside of you, digging a hole into your heart, and leaving a space where nothing else can fill it but that story only.”

We reach the apartment complex. Both of us stop at the same time.

I say, “I’ve never met anyone else who feels that way.”

“Really? I bet there are a lot of them. Sometimes, you already know them, and they just don’t show themselves.”

“Like character layers,” I say.

“That’s right,” he says, nodding. “There are a bunch of different sides to people. Often, you only know a few of them, and you have to carve deep and peel off the outer layers to find their true self.”

Their true self . . .

“Matsuzaki-senpai.”

I stand before him and sink into a bow. “Thanks for walking me home. I enjoyed our conversation.”

He smiles. “Me, too. I suppose I’ll be seeing you again since we live in the same place. I look forward to talking to you more, Tsuchiya-san.”

“Right. Me, too. Thank you again!”

With that, I turn and head up the stairs to my apartment. As I do, I think over his bright smile and the unique way he thinks.

And then, I think of what he said.

_There are a bunch of different sides to people. Often, you only know a few of them, and have to carve deep and peel off the outer layers to find their true self._

Does that apply to Aomine Daiki, too, I wonder?

* * *

The next morning, Matsuzaki greets me at the entrance of the building. “Hey,” he says. “So I thought maybe we could walk to school together . . .”

“That sounds great!” I say.

It’s only after I say it that I remember Aomine.

We hadn’t talked at all about walking to school together yet since he showed up randomly yesterday. But he’s still my boyfriend. Even though I sense nothing more than a platonic relationship with Matsuzaki, and I doubt Aomine will even care, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to show up with Matsuzaki by my side.

“Um, Matsuzaki-senpai,” I start.

“Yeah?”

“I — I —” I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. How am I supposed to tell him that I have a boyfriend?

“What is it, Tsuchiya-san?” He looks so earnest and open.

“I have a boyfriend!” I blurt out.

He blinks. “Oh, I see. The rumors yesterday . . . that was you?”

I nod. So he had heard about them. “Yeah. Sorry for not telling you earlier . . . it’s a really new relationship and all. I’ve never had one before, and so I’m still new to it, too, and —”

He  laughs and I jump. “Don’t worry about it, Tsuchiya-san,” he says. “If your boyfriend has a problem with me, he can walk you to school himself. But otherwise, I don’t like the idea of a girl traveling so far alone.”

My mouth falls slightly open. “U-um. T-thank you!”

“You’re cute when you blush, Tsuchiya-san.”

That, of course, makes me blush harder.

He laughs again. “I can see why you have a boyfriend.”

I stare at him. What a strange person he is. He is someone who shares the same views as I do on books, someone who doesn’t seem to care that I already have a boyfriend, and someone who thinks I’m . . . pretty, maybe? He’s nice, polite, friendly . . .

I kind of wish I’d met him earlier.

* * *

Aomine’s waiting for me several blocks from school. His eyes narrow when he sees Matsuzaki.

“U-um, Aomine,” I start. “This is Matsuzaki Takatsugu. He’s my neighbor. He offered to walk me to school, and I figured you wouldn’t mind, so —”

“Sure,” Aomine says, waving a hand indicating he could care less.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Hey,” Matsuzaki says, stepping forward. “I’m Matsuzaki. I’m a third-year.”

“Aomine Daiki.”

Matsuzaki blinks, then a look of recognition flashes through his eyes. “Oh! Wait! I’ve heard of you. Aren’t you one of the Generation of Miracles?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s amazing! You were the ace of Teikou, weren’t you? That’s awesome. You must be really talented.”

Aomine cocks his head at Matsuzaki. He glances briefly at me, a questioning look in his eyes. I shrug.

“I play some basketball,” Matsuzaki says. “Don’t know if I’m any good, though. Probably nothing next to you.” He chuckles.

Aomine says, “If you’re good, you should join the team. If you stink, you’re better off somewhere else.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Aomine!” I say. “Don’t say it like that.”

Matsuzaki looks mildly surprised, but at my words, he seems to shake himself out of it. His eyes narrow at Aomine and he says, “I see. So you think that those who have no natural talent shouldn’t even try?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So do you believe that it’s worth the effort to try playing a sport you love, even though you’re no good at it?”

For a few moments, Aomine stares at Matsuzaki, a sullen expression on his face. In the end, he says nothing at all.

I cut in, “Hey, hey. It doesn’t really matter, does it? Everyone’s entitled to their own opinions, after all. Let’s get to class, shall we?”

“You’re right, of course, Tsuchiya-san,” Matsuzaki says, and he smiles at me.

Aomine says, “Fine.”

Matsuzaki parts from us then, since it would be awkward to walk with the two of us. As Aomine and I walk toward the school together, I say, “He’s actually a pretty nice guy. He likes to read as well.”

“I don’t really care.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

For some reason, I can’t manage to feel angry at him for blowing me off. Instead, I just feel disappointed.

We walk most of the rest of the way in silence, but before we turn the corner that will reveal the school building in the distance, I decide I can’t stand it. And before my nerves rise up and my courage fails me, my hand darts out and grabs his shirt sleeve.

“Aomine,” I say. “Are you okay with it? Him walking me to school and stuff? If you don’t want me to —”

“I already said it was fine, didn’t I? You don’t need to ask again.”

“R-right. I was just making sure, though And you —”

His eyes narrow onto mine. “What else is it you want to say?” he asks, and his voice sounds somewhat soft.

I gulp. I’m not sure. I hadn’t planned on something specific exactly — I just knew that I had to say something. That if I didn’t, the silence would swallow us both whole, and I didn’t want to drown in such darkness.

“You’ve told me to say what I feel,” I begin. “So — so if there’s anything you want to tell me . . . you can. I mean, boyfriends and girlfriends tell each other things, right? It’s a part of the relationship. I mean, what I’m saying is . . . you don’t have to hold back on what you think. Your views. Your opinions. I don’t mind.”

He shakes his arm out of my grip, and for a moment, I think he’s rejecting me. But then his hand drops onto my head and he ruffles my hair gently. I feel sort of like a little kid, but it’s not altogether unpleasant.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says.

As he begins to walk away, I stand there, stunned for a few moments. He walks several feet in front of me before he realizes I’m not beside me. Angling his head back, he calls, “You coming, Kaminari?”

My head jerks up. His eyes are focused on mine. I want to look away from their strange intensity, but I force myself to meet them and hold his gaze. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m coming.”


	8. Chapter 8

The rumors are still flying about us that day. By lunchtime, my head’s pounding and more than anything, I just want to escape.

“Hey, Kaminari.”

I lift my head up from my desk, glancing up blearily at him. “Huh?”

“You not gonna eat?”

I stare at my untouched bento. “Do you want it?” I say. “You can have it. I’m not really hungry today.”

For a moment, I think he’s going to take me up on my offer. He grabs the bento, pulling it toward him, but then his hand darts out and he grips my arm, lifting me from the chair.

“Hey, what —”

“Come on,” he says gruffly. “Let’s get out of here.”

He half drags me out of the classroom and after a while, I give up trying to strain against him; he’s way too strong and besides, maybe it’ll be good for me to get away from the stares of the other students, too.

After a few minutes of walking, I realize where he’s leading me: up to the roof.

“That’s right,” I say, as he climbs up the ladder to the roof, then waits for me to do the same. “You don’t usually stay in class during lunch, do you? Do you come up here?”

 He nods and walks to the edge of the roof. He unwraps my bento halfway and pops a meatball into his mouth before handing the box back to me. “Here. Eat some.”

“I told you I’m not hungry.” I take the bento from him regardless when it’s clear he won’t relent.

“You should anyway.” He glances down at his fingers and frowns. “What was that, anyway? Did you make it?”

“My dad did,” I say. “Was it good?”

“Not really.”

“Would you have said the same thing if I’d told you I’d made it?”

He gives me a look, and I laugh as I pull out my chopsticks.

“Who usually makes your bento?” I ask.

He pulls out his lunchbox from his bag and says, “My mom does. Sometimes Satsuki will try, though. When that happens, I just have to skip lunch for the day.”

“Is she that bad of a cook?”

He shudders.

“Well, I’m not too great, either,” I say, pointing my chopsticks at him. “My cousin Hana is really good, though.”

“The one from yesterday?”

I nod. “She can make about everything.”

“What are you good at then? Besides getting good grades and being able to read an absurd amount of books.”

“That’s about it.”

“That can’t be all.” He shovels a few bites of his food into his mouth.

“What about you, then?” I ask. “All I know about you is that you’re good at basketball.”

“I can write my own biography,” he offers.

“Seriously? And all in katakana, I bet.”

“What’s wrong with katakana? It’s easy.”

“Do you only want to do things the easy way?”

“It’s not that I mind a challenge,” he says.

It seems like there’s something else that should be said, but again, he says nothing more.

I eat a few of my dad’s meatballs, and understand why Aomine had said what he had about them. They’re quite . . . unusual. I decide to switch to the rice next to them.

“You can’t just eat the rice,” Aomine says, catching me.

“Oh, well, I can just —”

“Here.”

He leans next to me and piles some of his calamari onto my rice. “Mom made this batch, so it’s fine. No worries.”

I twist my head up to thank him, but he hasn’t moved away yet, and our foreheads knock against each other. I jerk away, and the bento begins to slip from my lap. With one hand, he steadies my back and with the other, he catches the bento box before it all spills to the ground.

“Tch,” he says. “What are you, a kid? I’ve never seen someone so klutzy in my life before.”

“S-sorry!” I say, my face reddening as I take the bento from him and grip it firm in my hands. I wish he would move his hand from my back, though.

“There’s no need to apologize,” he says. “You’ll start sounding like Sakurai.”

“Are you skipping practice again today?” I ask, switching the subject.

“Why? You need me to walk you home?”

I make a face. “Of course not. I could always ask Matsuzaki-senpai to do that. I was just thinking that you should actually go today. Make some effort. You can’t use me as an excuse all the time. Besides, don’t you have a game coming up?”

“You really haven’t seen me play before?”

“No. I’ve told you, I’ve had no reason to.”

“You must be telling the truth. If you’d seen me, you’d know there’s no reason for me to go to practice.”

I wrinkle my brow. “Why’s that?”

He reaches forward and raps my forehead with his knuckles. “For someone so smart, sometimes you can be a little thick sometimes,” he says.

“Why, you —”

“I’m way better than any of them,” he says, continuing like I hadn’t said a word. “There’s really no need for me to go to practice when I don’t need it, is there?”

“But . . . you all are a team. Shouldn’t you learn to work together as a team?”

“That’s not Touou’s style,” he says. He stretches his arms over his head. “The team’s not really important, anyway. All you need to focus on is winning.”

I frown. Just winning? I’ve never been a part of sports, but to me, that seems a kind of sad way of viewing it. My dad likes sports, and he’s always commenting on the teamwork aspect of the games, of how the players worked together. He enjoys sports that are based upon people cooperating with each other. Perhaps my view of it is founded on his opinion. Obviously Aomine’s isn’t.

It is kind of funny, though. Dad and Mom have always loved working with other people, but I’ve always preferred to be on my own. And yet now . . . perhaps I’ve also become more comfortable with being in groups, instead of just standing alone as an individual.

* * *

After classes, Aomine leaves for basketball practice — dragged away by Momoi. As I make my way out of the school building, Hana stops by, her eyes glowing.

“So,” she says. “How did your date with Aomine-kun go yesterday?”

“Eh? Oh, fine.”

“Just fine? Have you two kissed yet?”

“Kissed?” I drop my shoes. “We’ve only been dating for like two days!”

She shrugs. “Whatever. Anyway, are you going to the bookstore today? A friend of mine was wanting me to get something for her.”

“I guess I could,” I say. “What book is it?”

“I forgot the name. I wrote it down, though.”

I roll my eyes at Hana’s short-term memory (for anything besides boys, that is). “Okay, then. You ready?”

She nods and shifts her weight to the other foot.

“Tsuchiya-san!” a voice calls out.

We both turn around to face the owner, Matsuzaki Takatsugu himself.

“That’s — that’s —!” Hana turns her gaze to me, her eyes large, her face pink.

“Matsuzaki-senpai!” I say, and I wave at him.

He nears our sides and grins at both of us. “Hey.” He turns his gaze to Hana, whose face turns even redder.

“This is my cousin, Tamura Hana,” I say. “And this is Matsuzaki Takatsugu. He’s my neighbor.”

“Y-your neighbor!” She nearly shrieks the last word. She dips into a low bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Matsuzaki-senpai! I’m Tamura Hana! I’m a first-year! I’m Kami-chan’s cousin.”

Poor girl. She just repeated everything I said.

Matsuzaki just smiles and says, “It’s nice to meet you, too. Are you two heading home now? Mind if I walk along with you?”

“Actually, Hana and I were going to a local bookstore,” I say to him. “You’re welcome to tag along.”

His eyes light up at the mention of books. “I’d love to. Thanks!”

I can feel Hana’s curious stare on me, but I ignore it. As we head out, I tell Matsuzaki a bit about Arakaki’s shop, and he talks about this one bookstore at his old home that he would often frequent. I’m struck by how easy it is to talk to him.

“So what are you into?” Matsuzaki asks, directing his question to Hana who immediately goes red (and her face just went back to its normal shade a few minutes ago, too . . . what a pity). “Do you like to read as well?”

“A bit,” she says, and she sounds kind of miserable about the fact, “but not nearly as much as Kami-chan. I prefer . . . cooking. Crafts. Stuff like that.”

“Cooking? That’s awesome. You ever made a castella before? They’re my favorite.”

“I have,” she says, nodding. “Cakes are one of my favorite things to make.”

I smile as the two continue to talk about different types of desserts, sharing their opinions. And by the time we reach the bookstore even Hana has warmed up to him — while she’s definitely boy-crazy, she gets terribly nervous around boys she finds attractive, so it’s quite a feat that she’s showing him her true personality.

I come to the conclusion that Matsuzaki-senpai is kind of amazing.

* * *

“So how in the world did you and Matsuzaki-senpai meet?” Hana asks me, her eyes still round. We’re in my room, her on my bed, a pillow stuffed on her lap, and me at my desk, attempting to do some light homework while she chats with me.

“Well, he’s my neighbor . . . we ran into each other after school while walking home.”

“I thought Aomine-kun walked you home.”

“Oh, um — he had to run somewhere.”

“Well, that’s nice. If you were single, I’d totally pair you with Senpai. But since you’re already taken, I think I might have a shot . . . though I think he really might be interested in you, regardless of your taken status.”

I think back to what he said yesterday. About me being “cute.” Does that count as trying to show your interest in someone? Or just being nice? Because Matsuzaki strikes me as the person who would say something like that just because he’s a nice person. 

“He’s a little eccentric,” Hana says, “but that’s what makes him interesting. He’s actually a bit like you, when I think about it.”

“Like me?” My voice squeaks.

She nods, her eyes serious. “You both like to read. You both have strong views. I guess he’s more friendly . . . though you can be nice if the person doesn’t annoy you. And you’re both smart, of course.”

I frown. “So is that a good thing or a bad thing? That we’re similar?”

“Depends on how you look at it. Some people think that the best chemistry for relationships is when the two people are opposites. Others believe that the two should be similar. If you were to go with the latter, it’d be you and Matsuzaki-senpai. If you wanted the former . . . well, you and Aomine are already in that position.”

Even Hana notices how much of opposites we are.

“What do you think is better?” I ask.

“I prefer opposites,” she says. “I think it would be boring to be with someone who was exactly like you. Though, of course, it’s nice to have some similar interests. And the same founding beliefs. You?”

“I think it would be nicer to have more in common with the person,” I say without thinking.

Hana appears to be surprised. “But you like Aomine. So I guess even feelings betray what we think, right?” She smiles.

“Right,” I say, glad she didn’t press me further for my opinion.

“I wish we’d gotten into a class together,” Hana says, sighing. “Things would’ve been a lot more fun.”

It’s probably actually a good thing she’s not in a class with me. She might be the only person who’d be able to see through our act.

Hana leaves my house shortly afterward, and I focus my efforts onto homework. With stopping at the bookstore and chatting with her, I need to make up some time. I begin to pull out my books, my pencil and some paper, but as I arrange them on my desk, I find that I can’t focus.

After the last few days . . . my head is spinning so much with thoughts of everything else that I can’t seem to concentrate on my schoolwork. I twirl my pencil in my hand, and point the tip of the lead on the paper, but I’m unable to think of a single word to write.

What is up with me? This has never happened before.

I bite my lip. Technically, none of this stuff is due for a few days . . . if I didn’t finish it today, then it would be okay. I just need to work extra hard tomorrow.

I lay my pencil down, and move to my bed. My cat Marshmallow’s asleep near the pillow, a black and white lump. When I nudge her, she begins to purr. I take my book from my nightstand, and flip it open to where I’ve marked where I left off. Immediately, a sense of calming fills me, and I feel my mind begin to wander into the story.

But then, as the drama between the two main characters increase, and secret rendezvous ensue, along with misunderstandings and side characters causing trouble . . . I realize that I’m really not in the mood for romance.

Before, I never had any kind of romance in my life. And I’m not quite sure that what I have now can quite count as romance, either. But now that I’m at least considering the real possibility of it, the idea of reading it . . . is not as appealing as it was before.

I lay the book upside down on my lap. Marshmallow stands up, stretches, and curls up beside my legs. I pet her absentmindedly, and her purring roars to an enormous level.

“Who ever thought this would happen to me?” I say to no one in particular.

Marshmallow blinks up at me and turns up the volume of her purring.


	9. Chapter 9

The next week passes faster than I expected. The rumors about Aomine and I slowly dissipate and even Hana gets bored with squealing over us. Matsuzaki continues to walk me to and from school, and we’ve gotten into some serious conversations over some of the assigned readings in class, and sometimes we’ll get off onto weird tangents that could last for hours if we had that much time.

As for Aomine and I, any time alone we spend is on the rooftop during lunch. Sometimes we talk a bit; sometimes we just eat in silence. We’ve started exchanging bits of our bento every day as well. I say it’s so he can try Dad’s awesome food; he makes a face at that, but he never really truly complains. And for some reason, he always gives me plenty of his in return.

On Monday, he tries to skip basketball practice again, but I starkly refuse to allow him to. I tell him, “If you skip practice one time this week, I’m not coming to your game.”

He gives me an appalled look, clearly telling me that he thinks I’m crazy. But he relents and dutifully attends practice each day that week. He must really want me to see him play or something. What, does he want to prove a point? Wakamatsu, the vice-captain, even comes up to me one day to comment on how much he’s grateful to me (since it’s obvious I’m the reason Aomine’s actually showing up for practice). Even Momoi approaches me sometimes to chat about “Dai-chan” and how she’s surprised I can put up with him. I wish I could tell her the truth.

At home, things mostly stay the same. Dad continues to make his weird dishes. Mom continues to make sure I’m not overworking myself. The only thing that’s different . . . I can’t find it in myself to finish the book that I was so excited about just a week ago. It doesn’t help that it was the book that got me into the trouble with Aomine, the one that he touched . . . Right now, it’s lying on my nightstand, the bookmark peeking out of the pages, ready to be completed, yet I just don’t have it in me to pick it up again.

Finally, the day of Aomine’s game arrives. He has to go there early since he’s a part of the team, so Matsuzaki offers to go with me — and upon hearing that Matsuzaki is coming, Hana begs to tag along. It’s quite a distance away, since it’s part of the Inter-High quarter-finals. . . .

“I’ve always wanted to see one of his games, anyway,” Matsuzaki says, shrugging. “It’ll be fun.”

We take the early morning train and arrive an hour before the game is due to start. As we find our seats, the two teams are filing onto the court to warm up. Touou’s opponent today is Kaijou High. Aomine told me earlier that the team secured one of his old teammates, another of the Generation of Miracles: Kise Ryouta. He’s a popular model on the side, and I can easily pick him out in the Kaijou team in their blue and white jerseys, his blond head standing out among the others as he stretches.

Aomine and the rest of the Touou team wear the customary black and red colors, and I have to admit, that as a whole, they look pretty intimidating. They are not a very large team by any means, but the aura they put forth is certainly daunting.

“So, who do you think is going to win?” Matsuzaki asks, sitting down in the chair beside me and offering me a pretzel that he’d just returned from purchasing. Hana eyes the empty chair besides Matsuzaki, and then the equally vacant one beside me, clearly torn. I give her a look, and her face flushes — she chooses the nearest seat; the one besides Matsuzaki, who just smiles at her when she sits down, causing her some weird coughing fit.

“I don’t know,” I answer. “Basketball’s not really my thing. Or any sports for that matter.”

“You’ve mentioned before.” He glances over at the teams. Most of Kaijou is already doing their warm-ups, but only a few of Touou are — I see Sakurai shooting a few three-pointers and Wakamatsu, the center, trying to defend.

“What do you think?” I ask him. “Which team do you think is better? Just from your preliminary observations, that is.”

He narrows his eyes at both teams. “Touou definitely seems more outwardly strong, and we have Aomine-kun, of course. But Kaijou has a lot of presence as well — not to mention, they have their ace, Kise Ryouta, who might give Aomine-kun some trouble. It’ll be a tough game, either way, I can already tell.”

Hana watches our discussion, wide-eyed; she hasn’t stopped sipping on her drink since she sat down.

“Both of them are Generation of Miracles . . . ,” I muse.

“It’s going to be quite a game,” he agrees.

Just then, I catch sight of Aomine moving down below, immediately noticeable due to his darker skin and hair. I lean forward slightly, my breath slowing. He takes a ball into his hand, and dribbles it a few times.

And just from that small moment, I can tell that he really is amazing. The movement is so smooth, it’s like it’s water flowing to and from his hands — like the ball is a part of him, a instinct built into him since birth.

His knees bend, and in that small instant before he moves, I think I stop breathing completely.

I don’t know if I blinked — I don’t think I did — but in the next moment, he’s already at the hoop, slamming the ball down into the basket with a resounding crack. The whole stadium seems to fall silent at his one move, like all of them, too, are awed by this amazing show of talent.

How can he move so fast? I mean, I’ve known his reflexes are great, since he always seems to be catching me when I trip, but this . . . I didn’t even know it was possible to move that quickly.

I shake my head slightly and smile at myself. Aomine Daiki. Redefining nature’s own laws for me.

At that moment, as the ball rolls away, and one of his teammates goes to catch it, he moves away from the hoop, and glances up at the stands, almost like he’s searching for something. I don’t know what drives me to do it, but I stand up then, and I wave my hand, desperately trying to get his attention. His eyes land on me, and he raises his hand slightly. I grin and give him a thumbs up. He cocks his head, and a smirk dons on his face, but he nods, like he understands.

When he turns away, I collapse back onto my chair, suddenly out of breath.

What has happened? I’m suddenly supporting him? I suppose . . . we’re friends now. On the outside, it appears that I’m just encouraging my boyfriend, but in reality, I know that I am actually cheering for him. Sometime, in the last week, he’s started to annoy me less, and become more . . . or something. I’m not sure exactly what yet.

I feel Matsuzaki’s eyes on me, and I start, looking up at him. My cheeks redden. He just smiles and says, “I’m sure your boyfriend will do a great job.”

I blink. My boyfriend. That’s right. Aomine Daiki is my boyfriend. I say it over and over in my head, out loud to people, and he calls me his girlfriend . . . perhaps more than a normal couple would. Perhaps because both of us still don’t really believe it ourselves. And by saying it out loud, we’re trying to confirm something, convince ourselves of something.

What? I don’t know.

* * *

The game is already off to an intense start. At the end of the first quarter, Kaijou is in the lead, 18-13. For right now, it seems like Touou and Kaijou are about evenly matched. Both of their centers are strong. They each have talented three-pointers. Kaijou has the unorthodox shooter, Moriyama. Touou has the cool and collected captain, Imayoshi, who is quite a capable point guard, Matsuzaki tells me.

But in the end, it seems like it really comes down to the two Generation of Miracles. Which one is stronger: Aomine Daiki or Kise Ryouta?

I can’t say immediately, never having seen either one play before, and because it’s only the start of the game. But both are amazing, I can already tell. However, even if I am a little biased . . . to me, Aomine seems more talented at first glance.

His eyes are narrow, a strange focus in them, and although parts of his talent seems to have come without a price, I know that some of it has been hard-earned, too. Even if he pretends not to, he cares.

* * *

I let out a long, long breath. 110-98. We did it. We won. Aomine won!

Matsuzaki stands up, and turns to me, his eyes glowing. “That was amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an intense game before.”

Hana is still sitting, but her jaw has dropped slightly — she ran out of her drink a long time ago, but she’s still clutching the cup, still staring down at the court, like maybe she’s hoping it’s not over. I understand the feeling.

I stand up as well, nodding, and glance back at the court. They’re calling for the players to line up to give their thanks for the game. The ace of Kaijou, Kise Ryouta . . . he’s having trouble. The strain on his legs, I realize. Aomine hovers near, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s going to help his old teammate, but he doesn’t, turning away, and the Kaijou captain goes to help the blond.

After a ringing chorus of “Thank you for the game!”, they disappear to the locker rooms.

By this time, I realize most everyone else has already started heading out of the building. Hana and Matsuzaki are waiting patiently for me. Matsuzaki says, “Are you wanting to stay and wait for him?”

That’s what a proper girlfriend would do.

But I think that _I_ would actually like to, too.

Something twinges inside of me. I push it aside, and nod at Matsuzaki. “Yeah, I’ll just wait for him, if that’s fine with you. You can go ahead and go home.”

He nods. “Okay, let me know if you have any trouble. You got my number, right?”

“Yeah, thanks, Senpai.”

“No problem.”

Hana lingers a moment, glancing between me and Matsuzaki. She says, “Tell Aomine he did a good job.”

I smile. “I will. You should go over the game with Matsuzaki-senpai. I’m sure he’d love a play-by-play discussion.”

Her cheeks redden, but she nods, and she and Matsuzaki leave.

I stay in the benches for a few more moments, staring down at the now-empty court, with only a few people there, cleaning it. Then, I stand up and walk out.

The hallways are cool and a bit shadowy. It’s as I realize that I don’t know where he’ll be coming out that I also realize I don’t have his number.

Seriously? We’ve been dating for a week now, and we haven’t even exchanged numbers? I even have Matsuzaki-senpai’s! I make a note to ask for his as soon as I see him.

I lean against the wall, closing my eyes briefly, thinking that perhaps I should text Matsuzaki after all, asking him and Hana to return, or else I’ll be stuck here all day, when I hear a voice.

“Kaminari?”

I jerk up, opening my eyes to see Aomine Daiki himself emerge from the shadows.

“Aomine,” I say. “Where’s the team?”

“They’re still in the locker area. What are you still doing here?”

“I was waiting for you.” I pause. “And — oh. Um. Congrats! You won! Hana wanted me to tell you you did a good job.”

“Yeah.”

I blink. “You don’t seem very happy about it.”

He shrugs. “I knew I would win.”

“What do you mean?” I take a step forward closer to him. “That sounds awfully big-headed of you, you know.”

His gaze shifts to mine briefly, then moves away. For once, he seems like the one who is unwilling to look me in the eyes. “I always win,” he says. “The only one who can beat me . . . is me.”

It suddenly makes sense.

Everything, all of the past moments we’ve shared, seem to flow over me in quick succession, begging to be reevaluated with this new information. I view each of them individually with fresh eyes, and I _understand_.

“That’s why,” I breathe out. “You’re . . . you . . .”

He shifts and begins to move away from me, but I grab his arm, my fingers slipping against his shirt sleeve. “Wait!” I cry out. “Don’t leave it at this. I get it now. I understand you! You don’t have a challenge, right? You’re always winning . . . and no one’s willing to fight against you. Because you’re . . . a Generation of Miracles or whatever, and you’re, well, _you_. In something you love, if there’s nothing to fight for, it’s not worth it. That’s why, isn’t it? You told me to speak my mind all that time ago . . . no one stands against you anymore, but you wanted me to. Even if it’s not strictly basketball, that’s what you were aiming for. Right? Aomine, I’m —”

He wrenches his arm out of my grasp and the force of it slings me backwards. I gasp. He turns, slowly, and his eyes appear darker than usual and almost . . . sad in a way.

“Right,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re right, of course.”

He nears me, and a part of me wants to flee, while another part of me wants to move closer to him. My back is against the wall and he is in front of me, so neither is an option, anyway. He places a hand on the wall, just inches away from my head, and then he leans forward and presses his forehead against my shoulder. His breathing is ragged and heavy.

My own is fast, my heart pounding and so loud, I’m sure he can hear it.

For a few moments, we just stand there, his head on my shoulder. He smells like sweat still, but he also smells like . . . well, him. It’s a scent that I realize I’ve unintentionally gotten familiar with in the last week. I breathe it in, and slowly relax.

My hands are hanging at my side, loose and useless, but slowly they begin to tingle, regaining their feeling. Gently, I move them up to his shoulders and push him away from me. He stares at me, and I can’t discern the emotion in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “For not realizing earlier. And from now on . . . whatever I can do, just let me know, okay? I’m sure someday, you’ll find someone who will fight you with all their might. And I’m sure someday, there will be something worth fighting for as well, something that _you’ll_ have to fight for with all your strength, everything that’s in you.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it. Then he just nods.

I give him a smile and say, “Let’s go get something to eat, and then head home, okay? Also, you need a shower. Like, really badly.”

For the first time, humor flashes through his eyes, and relief floods through me. I don’t know when I started caring about his well-being, but somehow . . . somehow, I have. And more than anything, I want him to smile.


	10. Chapter 10

 As the next few weeks pass, something shifts between Aomine and me. Before, we constantly annoyed each other and got on the other’s nerves. Then, in the first week of being boyfriend and girlfriend, we were civil with each other, and put on the façade that we were dating. But now . . . I guess, you could say we’re friends.

It’s actually kind of a relief. With this new relationship status between us, I somehow feel more comfortable around him. Even though we’re supposedly dating and whatever, now that I know more about him, I’m more at ease with him. Perhaps he feels the same, because he slowly begins to smile more around me. Each time, it’s like a little surprise, a burst of sunshine behind the dark clouds, and I enjoy it every single time.

Touou placed second in Inter-High, being beaten by Rakuzan from Kyoto. Their next competition they’re participating in is the Winter Cup, the preliminaries beginning early November. Already, Aomine and the rest of the team are preparing for it. Or rather, the rest of the team is working hard, and Aomine pops in every once in a while when I manage to convince him to.

It’s approaching late October, and we’re up on the roof together. The wind is fierce today, blowing and tugging at our clothes, tangling my hair, and sending a chill through my body.

“It’s not even winter yet,” I complain, “and it’s freezing!”

“You’re cold?” He gives me a sideways look and shrugs off his jacket before throwing it over my head.

I make a noise of protest, but after feeling the softness of it, and the warmth from the heat of his body, I quiet down. “Thanks,” I mutter.

The two of us huddle together, and I consider suggesting going back inside so we don’t have to deal with the awful wind.

But then he begins to speak. “How much do you know about the Generation of Miracles?”

I frown. Considerably more than I used to, but really nothing more than just their names. “Not much,” I admit.

“Have you ever heard of the Phantom Sixth Man?”

“No. Who’s he?”

Aomine’s quiet for a few seconds before he speaks again. “He was my old teammate. He was a regular on the Teikou team as well . . .”

“But he’s not a part of the Generation of Miracles?” I ask, frowning.

“It depends on your point of view,” he says, shrugging. “That’s why he’s called the Phantom Sixth Man.”

“Were you two friends?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he says, “His school, Seirin High, is entered into the Winter Cup.”

“That meant they were in Inter-High as well, right? Did you play them?”

“Yeah. I beat them, of course.”

Of course.

I wonder what his point is of telling me this. I say, “Are you hoping to play him again at Winter Cup?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know . . .”

“I just wanted you to know,” he says, shrugging again. “We’ll see if they even make it past preliminaries next week. If they can’t manage that, there’s no point in worrying about it.”

“He’s not that weak, though, is he?”

His eyes narrow at me.

“You know what I think?” I say, sitting up straighter, and hugging his jacket closer to me. “I think you do want to play him. And I think that maybe, just maybe, you’re hoping he’ll give you the game of your life.”

* * *

We get the results of our mid-terms back that week. I’d forced Aomine to study with me, so he’s considerably higher than he would normally be. Out of the three hundred people in our class, I placed second, being narrowly beaten by some nerd in the class next to his. Apparently, he’s one of those types who looks a lot younger than he really is but acts a lot older and is a genius.

Matsuzaki, however, got first place in his year on his mid-terms, which just seals in my mind how amazing he really is. He doesn’t even try to flaunt it, either.

“It’s nothing much,” he says, flushing from embarrassment as Hana and I congratulate him. “I just studied a lot. And you helped a lot, Tsuchiya-san. Your studying habits are no joke.”

Hana sends me a jealous look which I ignore. “I’m glad to be of help,” I say.

Currently, we’re in Arakaki’s bookstore, casually browsing the shelves. Arakaki himself has disappeared into the backroom, presumably to make some coffee for us, but he’s been back there for so long that I wonder if he’s fallen asleep (hey, it’s been known to happen).

Matsuzaki picks a random book from the shelf and flips it open to read the blurb in the jacket. “Hey, this one’s about basketball,” he says. “You read it, Tsuchiya-san?”

He hands it over to me and I glance at the cover. “No,” I say. “I’ve never seen it before. Must be new.”

“That’s strange.” He grins. “A book Tsuchiya-san’s never read before.”

“It’s unheard of!” Hana chimes in, and he switches his grin to her which causes her face to go as pink as the strawberry cakes she loves to make.

I open the book to the first chapter and read a few lines. “It doesn’t sound too bad so far,” I say. “I’ll get it. Maybe it’ll teach me more about basketball.”

“Are you telling me that you’re dating Aomine Daiki and you still don’t know much about basketball?” Hana asks, eyes wide and unbelieving.

I make a face. “It’s not like he wants to teach it to me,” I say, “and it’s not like I’m that interested in learning. Besides, you know how uncoordinated I am, anyway. I’m terrible at all kinds of sports.”

“That’s true. Even if he tried teaching you, it would probably all go over your head.”

“Thanks, Hana.”

“I could try teaching you if you want to learn,” Matsuzaki offers. “Aomine-kun’s definitely the better player, but I don’t suspect he’d be a very good teacher.”

He says the words casually, like he’s hoping I won’t take offense.

I nod. “Aomine _would_ be awful at teaching me basketball.”

“So whaddya say? Want to learn from me? I must say, I don’t think I’d be too terrible of a teacher.”

“You’d definitely be better than him,” I agree. “Sure. Why not? Maybe I can surprise him sometime.”

“Perhaps basketball is a secret hidden talent of yours, and you’ll turn out to be a long-awaited prodigy, and you’ll be able to beat even him!”

Yeah, doubt that. I laugh and say, “That’ll totally happen. I’ll become so good that I’ll be able to fly around the court, yeah?”

“It’ll be like there’re wings on your feet, you’re so fast.”

Hana stares at the two of us, clearly feeling left out of our friendly banter, and I cough slightly, and turn to her, feeling a bit ashamed. Matsuzaki seems to notice as well, and he immediately shifts toward her, saying, “It’d be really fun to have you there, too. You want to join in, Tamura-san?”

Her eyes widen at the offer, and at first she says nothing. But then, “U-um, okay. I guess so. I’ve never tried many sports. I’ve done a little running before . . . but I guess I can try.”

“Running’s great,” Matsuzaki says, grinning. “I used to do track when I was in middle school. Do you do it as a sport or just a hobby?”

And with that, he and Hana are off, discussing the finer points of the exercise and other things I have no idea about. I smile at Matsuzaki’s charming nature and ease with words, and move to pick out my next book.

* * *

I don’t tell Aomine I’m going to learn basketball. Because even though we were mostly joking about me getting better than him (there is no chance that will ever happen), I really do want to surprise him.

So that day, after school, I say farewell to him as he goes off to practice, and I race off to find Matsuzaki at our usual meeting place for when we go to the bookstore. He and Hana are already waiting for me. He’s grinning like usual, and she informs me that she’s made us snacks for once we’re done.  

“So there’s a court not too far from our home,” he tells us. “And I have a ball at my house. Want to stop by there really quick, drop off our stuff, then head over?”

“Sounds good.”

On our way home on the train and the subsequent walk, we make small talk. He tells me of this new paper he’s having to write in his English class; I talk about the art project I’m doing with Sakurai (lucky me — I actually got paired with someone interested in art for once); and Hana tells us about a new dish she wants to try out.

When we reach our apartment, we part briefly; he goes left and I go right, and Hana waits for us. It’s a Friday, so Dad’s already home.

“Hey, sweetheart!” he calls out. “Guess what I’m making today?”

“Hey, Dad,” I say. “I’m actually going out with some people. Maybe later?”

“Oh.” He raises an eyebrow. “Friends, huh?”

I’ve never gone out with anyone other than Hana and maybe a study partner. So, “friends,” being plural, is unusual.

“Yeah. It’ll just be a little while. Don’t worry, it’s Hana and a guy from school.”

“A guy?”

I dash to my room, and quickly change from my school uniform into some shorts and a t-shirt. I wrap my hair into a ponytail and check my appearance really quick before exiting.

“Well, have fun,” Dad says, but I’m already halfway out the door.

Matsuzaki is already waiting for me, chatting with Hana. I wonder how quick I’ll have to be for our positions to be reversed.

He grins when he sees me and holds up a ball. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

It takes us about a five minute walk to get to the street court. Fortunately, there’s no one around, so we’re able to have it to ourselves.

“So,” Matsuzaki says, holding the ball in his hands loosely, and directing the question toward me. “Have you ever played at all before? Or any sport for that matter?”

“Never basketball,” I say, “but I’ve done some football before.”

“I see. Okay, well, do you know the basketball positions?”

“Um . . . there’s a shooting person. And a center. And a forward?”

“Close. There’s a center, a shooting guard, a power forward, a small forward, and a point guard. Those are the five positions. Aomine-kun’s the power forward. They’re generally the most offensive. The center’s will usually stay by the hoop, defending, and getting rebounds. Point guards direct a lot of the team, and in principle, they should be good at passing. A shooting guard, obviously, specializes in shooting. And a small forward is the most flexible.”

“Oh, that makes more sense now.”

Matsuzaki shakes his head, amused. “I can’t believe you didn’t even know that. Anyway, like most games, basketball works around an offense and defense. Touou is extremely strong on offense, especially with Aomine-kun on our side. You’re smaller, so that puts you at a disadvantage to the bigger players. For people like you, you have to use other abilities like speed, quick reflexes, and so on. What are you good at?”

“None of those,” I reply. “Didn’t I tell you that I’m really uncoordinated? And clumsy? And just really, really bad at sports?”

“Don’t worry. If you practice hard enough, you’ll get it.”

His positivity is annoying in an endearing way. Hana smiles and nears me.

“All right,” he says, and he tosses the ball up in the air before neatly catching it again. “Who wants to go first?”

Hana immediately ducks behind me, so Matsuzaki throws the ball to me — I barely manage to catch it.

“I just want to see how good you are at shooting,” he says. “So, just throw it in. Whatever way you can manage.”

“You’re not going to show me technique or anything?” I ask, holding the ball, dumbfounded.

“Sometimes orthodox ways hinder the player rather than help,” he says, shrugging.

“Okay . . .”

I roll the ball in my hands, trying to get a feel for it. Then I move toward the hoop. “How far away should I be?” I ask him.

“Whatever feels comfortable,” he says.

Nothing really feels right. A few yards away, I stare up at the hoop, daunted by its height. I can’t believe people like Aomine can actually dunk into this . . . wait, actually, I can. I just can’t believe that I’m trying to learn this ridiculous sport now.

I tense my legs, bending them slightly, and leap, throwing the ball as I do.

It soars through the air several feet away from the hoop’s edge. 

I turn to Matsuzaki, my cheeks red. He’s barely containing a laugh. Hana doesn’t even bother trying and giggles; I shoot her a glare.

After that, he lets Hana shoot the ball and she has equal amount of success (or failure, if you want to call it that), and he then begins to teach us the proper way to position our bodies, dribble, pass, and finally, shoot. Several hours later, I make my first basket, after many, many, many tries. Hana had actually been able to catch onto the technique more easily than me and has already been able to make several shots. I can see she’s quite pleased with herself, but I’m so excited that I leap up in the air and whoop.

“You did it!” Matsuzaki shouts, his excitement matching mine.

“Yes!” I shout back, and a stream of pleasure runs through me, because despite myself, I can’t help but wait to see Aomine’s expression when he sees what I can now do.


	11. Chapter 11

Because the preliminaries are this week, Aomine decides that he’ll at least put in the effort to go to practice every day. So instead of my usual studying, I meet up with Hana and Matsuzaki at the street court to practice.

For several days in a row, I don’t make any noticeable progress, only making one or two baskets every day, but on the fourth day, I finally start to see a change. My muscles begin to remember the patterns and rhythms more easily, and I’m able to score more, too. Matsuzaki starts going less easy on me, and I’m even able to break past him once.

Touou passes the preliminaries easily.

Seirin makes it through as well.

* * *

A few weeks before the Winter Cup starts, Aomine shows up at my house early in the morning.

Mom and Dad are already at work, so I’m the only one home. At first, I freak out, wondering who in the world it is. But then, I peer out the door’s eyehole and see the Touou uniform.

I open the door. “Aomine, what are you —”

I stop when I see his face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his voice low.

“Of course . . . you don’t need to ask that.”

I open the door wider, and he moves past me before collapsing onto the couch.

“What’s wrong?” I ask again. “School’s not supposed to start for another two hours. I was barely even awake —”

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, it’s fine. I just . . . want to know what’s wrong.”

He closes his eyes. Opens them. Stares at the ceiling. He says, “Have I ever been to your house before?”

“Not in it, no. Why do you keep dodging the question?”

“I want to see your room.” He rolls off the couch, and stalks down the hall to where he presumes my bedroom is.

“Hey, wait! You can’t just —”

He opens a door at random (the coat closet), huffs, and moves on to the next.

“Aomine, stop!” I catch up to him, and grab his arm. I tug at it, hoping he’ll turn to face me, but he steadily ignores me. He’s so much bigger and taller than me that there’s not much I can do when he’s like this.

I let out a frustrated sigh, and just hope I haven’t left anything embarrassing in sight.

He reaches my room and pushes the door open. “Ah, here we are.”

My room’s walls are painted a light lavender color. The bed is a white-frame, chipped in some places since I’ve used it since I was a kid. There are a few posters on the wall, mostly of inspirational quotes, and some flyers hanging on my closet door reminding me of deadlines and events. I hadn’t bothered to make my bed that morning, so it’s a mess, and the sheets are bright pink (like my cheeks, probably). Clothes are scattered all about (but thankfully, nothing mortifying). My cat, Marshmallow, lies on the floor, asleep, but at Aomine’s loud and bumbling steps, she jumps up and hisses, quickly exiting the room. He ignores her.

“You still have this, then?” He strides across my room and picks a book off my nightstand.

It’s the romance novel that started everything. I never did finish it.

“Is it good?” he asks me.

“I don’t know,” I say, mouth dry.

“You don’t know?” He raises an eyebrow. Then understanding crosses his face, and he pulls the bookmark out of the pages. I’m about to protest, but I stop myself. I know as well as he does that I’m never going to finish it now.

He drops the book onto my bed, and tosses the bookmark to me. I’m actually able to catch it, perhaps from all the basketball practice with Matsuzaki.

“Where are you going to put that now?” he asks me, motioning to the bookmark.

I glance down at it. It’s blue, a piece of firm cloth with a ribbon tied to the top, swirls and patterns in the fabric. Mom had bought it for me for Christmas.

Where am I going to put it now? What story am I going to start next?

I lay the bookmark down and look up at Aomine. For the first time that day, his gaze doesn’t waver from mine. We stare at each other, neither willing to break the connection between us. I say, “You tell me.”

* * *

“Satsuki called me this morning,” he says a few minutes later. We sit on my bed together (after I’d hurriedly fixed the sheets). “She told me that we’d be playing Seirin first in the Winter Cup.”

I nod, understanding filling me. “So that’s why you freaked?”

He scowls. “I didn’t freak.”

“You rushed over to my house at six-thirty in the morning.”

“Whatever.”

“So, you and the Phantom Sixth Man . . . Kuroko Tetsuya is his name, right? Were you two friends?”

“I guess you could say that . . .” He pauses, and gazes off into the distance, his memories taking over him. “He was funny, Tetsu. He didn’t really possess any talent for basketball whatsoever, but he kept trying his hardest. I guess I sort of admired that. And when he made it onto the team as a regular, some part of me . . .”

“You were proud,” I guess.

His mouth quirks. “Is that what it was? Well, anyway, that’s the thing about Tetsu. He never gives up. Even when I wanted to, when I thought there was no one who would ever challenge me again, he told me that someday I’d meet someone even better than me. I suppose . . . he’s kind of like you.”

“Me?” I say, surprised.

“Neither of you give up. You both have something you want, and you both fight your hardest for it.”

It makes sense, I think. That Aomine would be drawn to people like that. People . . . like me? In the last few months that I’ve known, there are a few things that I’ve learned about Aomine Daiki.

  1. He’s much nicer than he appears. Only to people he’s comfortable with, though. And perhaps . . . people he cares about. He’s surprisingly protective as well, especially when he talks about his old teammates.
  2. He appears to be lazy, like he doesn’t care about much, but in reality, he loves basketball and he cares an enormous amount. For someone like him, it’s hard to express the feelings in an accurate way, and because of his enormous talent, and the way people have treated him in the past, scared and defeated because of his abilities, his attitude towards his beloved sport has morphed into something that most people would call disgraceful, unappreciative to what he’s been blessed with. But the truth is: he really does care. Just, perhaps, too much.
  3. Despite what he says, he actually hopes a lot. He carries so much hope inside of him that he’s scared it will crush him at any moment. And that’s why he puts on an unbeatable front, the show that nothing can hurt him. Because, inside, some part of him wants that to be true — and then some part of him wants someone to tell him to stop acting, to break down his walls, and to make him really fight. He wants a challenge, a fire lit inside of him, a battle with an outcome he can’t predict. Something that will make his mind race, his heart pound, and even interrupt his dreams to keep him awake at night. After all, sleep is too peaceful for the thing he is yearning for.



I once read in a book that to find someone’s true self, you have to pretend you’re digging through a mine. You have to treat that person’s soul as if it’s just as precious — and even more so — than gold and diamonds. You dive into darkness, not knowing if you’ll ever be able to rise into the light again, and deeper and deeper you tunnel, searching for just one glimmer of something precious, something that’s genuine. You have to work hard, the author said. It’ll take a long time, it’ll take dedication, determination, and strength. But if you really want it, you’ll find it. The beautiful thing you’re looking for. Because, after all your hard work, the gemstone will make itself known to you.

I feel that with each conversation I have with Aomine, I am getting to know bits and pieces more of him. Like I am getting closer to his true self. I wonder, what will happen when I find it?


	12. Chapter 12

As the game with Seirin approaches, I see less and less of Aomine. On one hand, it’s like he’s extremely focused and he can’t think of anything else; on the other, it’s like he’s so lax that his mind can’t stay on one topic, that he wanders from one thing to another, endlessly on a different dimension than the rest of us. 

But either way, I don’t see him much. He stops coming to me before and after school, and only appears for a few classes at a time. The rare times he does show up, I try to get him to cheer up, but he’ll barely pay attention to me.

Apparently, Momoi isn’t having much more progress. She comes to me one day to vent out her frustrations. “Kaminari-chan,” she whines, leaning into the bench beside me. The outside air is fresh and cool, and I shiver inside my jacket.

“How are you doing, Momoi-san?” I say.

“Like I said, you can call me Satsuki! I don’t mind. We’re friends after all, aren’t we?” She gives me a smile and I manage to return it. Unlike Aomine, she’s full of energy and smiles. I wonder how the two of them are even friends. But I like her, and her organization skills are no joke.

“How’s Dai-chan with you?” she asks me. “He keeps brushing me off. Won’t let me get in a word edge-wise!”

I frown, thinking it over. “Well, he certainly is distracted lately. He hasn’t been talking much.”

Momoi sighs and slumps further into the bench. “I’ll have to talk to him,” she says. “That’s absolutely no way to treat his girlfriend. And you, you should have a real talk with him as well! He needs someone close to him right now.”

I glance at her, confused.

She continues, noticing my look. “What I mean is . . . Dai-chan and I . . . we know each other too well, and in ways, we don’t get along. But you and him . . . I see a real connection there. And you’re always trying. You’re always persisting. I admire that. And I think he sees it, too. So keep trying with him. He’ll eventually come around, okay? I promise.”

* * *

“You both have progressed a lot,” Matsuzaki says. He throws the ball toward Hana firsts, who then tosses it in my direction and I manage to catch it fairly easily.

“I’d hope so,” I say. “It’s been almost a month and a half since we started practicing.”

Hana grins at me. “Are you going to show Aomine-kun soon?”

I pause, rolling the ball through my hands. “I haven’t thought about when I’ll show him,” I say.

“You could do it after his next game,” Matsuzaki suggests.

“I suppose. How do you think I should do it?”

“What’s this, are you asking me for advice for a date?” The words are joking and he grins. Hana freezes, her face reddening at even the slight mention of such a thing.

“Well, you _are_ my senpai.” I crouch, dribble the ball a few times, and then dash past him. Distracted for a moment, he doesn’t catch me, and I’m able to slip past him. Nearing the hoop, I jump up into the air and shoot it. It tumbles into the basket; not an entirely clean shot, scraping the edge, but at least it made it in. I grin, proud of my accomplishment.

“I see how it is,” Matsuzaki grumbles behind me. “You’re just gonna bat your big eyelashes to get past people. That’s the only way you’ll ever be able to beat Aomine-kun.”

I turn around, still grinning, and throw the ball toward him. “What’s wrong with using some of my natural gifts? Distraction’s not a bad technique, either.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That sounds more like something Hana-chan would do, not you.”

“W-what?” Hana’s cheeks are bright red now. I catch the familiar way he addressed her and raise my eyebrows at her. She just shakes her head at me. “I — I don’t think I could really think that well during a game,” she says.

“Well, you’re plenty good with me,” he says.

She looks like she might faint, poor girl. Luckily, she manages to keep from doing so, and just ducks her head, her hands clutching her skirt.

I check the time. “Oh, it’s getting late. I’d better head home. Thanks for practicing with me!” I begin to move away from the court.

“No problem. Will we be doing this again?” His eyes twinkle. “Or will you be doing it with your boyfriend from now on?”

I glance back at him. “I suppose we’ll see about that.”

* * *

The morning of the game, I send a text to Aomine. It seems impersonal, but I have no other way of contacting him, and he won’t answer my calls.

It took me forever to be able to think of something to say, but finally, I settle with the simplest:

_Have a good game today._

He never replies. I didn’t really expect him to anyway.

Matsuzaki and Hana both meet me at the station for the game. She’s fidgeting beside him, and looks relieved to see me.

“You look a little nervous,” Matsuzaki says, his usual smile adorning his face. “Worried your boyfriend might have some trouble today?”

“I don’t know,” I reply, and I’m being honest.

In truth, I don’t know if Kuroko Tetsuya will be the one to beat Aomine Daiki. And I don’t know if I want him to — perhaps I want Aomine to stay strong, forever the unbeatable ace. But then, perhaps I don’t, because sometimes there are things that can only be fixed by being broken first.

Aomine Daiki might be one of those.

It’s currently not in my power to uncover what is bothering him right now, but maybe someone who knew him from before, who might know what his problem is now, will be able to find the truth. Tear it from the lock on his heart. And then — then, maybe, he’ll be more open to me.

Because I want to know him. If he’ll only let me in.

As we file into the stadium, there’s already a large crowd. My eyes widen at the sight of all the people. Winter Cup really is a big thing. Matsuzaki’s told me of the level it’s risen to, but now, looking at the huge crowds, I firmly believe him.

We find our seats, but due to the traffic and crowds, we’ve already missed the teams’ warm-up. The game is due to start in about fifteen minutes. Matsuzaki and Hana make some small talk, and he offers to go get drinks, while I simply fidget.

When Matsuzaki returns, he’s just in time. The lights flicker around us. My breath catches and I lean forward.

The two teams file onto the court. There is Touou, as strong and undefeatable-looking as always, firm in their standing.

And then there is Seirin. A relatively new school, the underdogs who are surprising everyone. They almost made it through the Inter-High, only to be crushed by Touou previously this summer. This re-match determines . . . everything. As I watch Seirin, though, goose bumps form on my arm. The looks on their faces . . . they’re clearly here for a purpose, and I don’t think it’s just to win a game.

This game means more than that to them.

I wonder if it has something to do with Aomine. Kuroko Tetsuya. The Generation of Miracles. The red-haired boy talking to the Phantom Sixth Man.

Seirin is no ordinary team, that’s for sure. They have an agenda, and they’re willing to go to great lengths to achieve it.

But Touou . . . we have Aomine Daiki. The unstoppable force, the ace of the Generation of Miracles.

He can’t be beaten.

Right?

* * *

The next hour seems to pass at a sluggish pace, yet also very fast. Like each moment is being broken apart for everyone to see in slow motion — and then sped forward at such a speed it becomes a blur. I’m not quite sure if I ever blink, if I ever breathe even.

And then it’s all over.

101 to 100, in favor of Seirin.

Touou lost.

We lost.

Aomine lost.

Aomine Daiki, the ace of the Generation of Miracles, lost. For the first time in his life, he was beaten.

I stand up. And with the rest of the crowd, I begin screaming. Cheering, clapping, I don’t know. Just shouting and screaming. I hear Hana and Matsuzaki beside me, roaring out their excitement as well.

I can’t exactly describe the game. The amount of emotions packed inside of the four quarters; the amount of tension, the amount of quick turnarounds, and edge-of-your-seat wonderings for what will happen next. I’ve never seen such a thrilling game before.

And I thought sports were boring.

But Aomine lost.

He lost!

I saw him smile, though.

During the game, when he was playing Kagami Taiga, Seirin’s red-headed ace, I saw him smiling. He’d finally found someone, a person he could fight his hardest against, someone who would never back down.

I am so happy for him. I want to cry and laugh and smile and scream — I don’t know what I want to do.

He stands on the court, a blank expression on his face . . . and it’s almost soft. The strain on him that I’ve come to known the last few weeks has disappeared, and it’s like everything that he was carrying has been lifted off on him.

Kuroko stands near him, but with the adrenaline from the game finally wearing off, he begins to sway. Kagami manages to catch him and hold him up. Aomine turns slightly to Kuroko, and they exchange a few words. Then, a fist bump. I grin, and begin to race through the crowds. I hear Matsuzaki and Hana call after me, but I ignore them. I have to catch him. I have to reach him before he leaves — if I don’t — I don’t know what’ll happen if I don’t.

I push my way through the people surging through the aisles, chatting about how great the match was. I squeeze through them, muttering excuses, hoping they notice how urgent this, how much I need to —

I reach the base of the court.

Both teams are absent. Only a few people remain, cleaning the court up.

“Aomine,” I whisper.

But he’s gone.

“Miss?”

I spin around, my heart leaping in my chest.

A boy with light blue hair faces me. His eyes are naturally large and he has a rather blank expression, though it’s tired and I can see just a bit of contentment in there.

“You’re Kuroko,” I breathe out.

“Do you know Aomine-kun?” he asks.

“Um . . . yes. We’re dating.” It still feels weird to say those words.

He cocks his head. “I see. He already left, though.”

“Yeah, I can see that. But — but I wanted to talk to you, too! I wanted to thank you!” I dip into a bow.

His eyes widen slightly in understanding, and a small smile curves his lips. He says, “Aomine-kun is lucky to have found you.”

I start and lift my head to meet his eyes. He stares straight at me and it’s almost disconcerting. I say, “Thank you. Again. I think . . . you’ve fixed something inside of him. Something I couldn’t do.”

“It’s up to you now, though . . .”

“Tsuchiya Kaminari. My name is Tsuchiya Kaminari.”

“Tsuchiya-san, then. I will leave him in your hands now. After all, it is time for both of us to move onwards now.”

I nod and whisper, “Thank you.”

He nods back and disappears from my sight.

I clench my hands into fists, steadying myself, and then dash from the court. I send a text to Aomine, asking him where he is, not that I really expect him to answer. I search around the stadium a bit and find nothing.

After forty-five minutes, with no sign of him or his team, I’m beginning to lose hope.

But then I stumble outside, and there he is.

He’s lying on the stairs, hands behind his head, staring up at the sky. He still has that weird, soft expression on his face.

“Aomine!” I shout, unable to stop myself.

His head turns slightly and he rolls up to a sitting position. “Kaminari?” He squints in the darkness. “That you?”

“You idiot,” I say. “I’ve been looking all over for you. You haven’t been checking your phone at all, have you?”

“No. You could’ve asked Satsuki. I just talked to her.”

I pause. It would probably be a good idea to get Momoi’s phone number, since she’s essentially Aomine’s babysitter, even though I’m technically his girlfriend.

I sit down on the steps beside him, and he lies back down, closing his eyes. For a few moments, neither of us say anything.

Finally, though, he speaks up. “Did you watch the whole thing?”

I nod, but then realize his eyes are still closed. “Yes.”

“Huh.”

“Huh? That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you expect me to say?”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

“So what did you think? Were you expecting that outcome?” His voice is dry.

I lick my lips before replying. “No, I can’t say I was. In all honesty, I’m pretty sure it’s hard for anyone to imagine you losing.”

“Me. Losing.” He repeats the words slowly. They are still so foreign to him.

“I talked to Kuroko-kun,” I say. “After the game, when I went looking for you. He . . . he’s interesting.”

“You mean, he scared you.”

I blush slightly, and am glad for the darkness that hides it. “I . . . he didn’t _scare_ me. He just surprised me.”

“Tetsu can do that.” Despite being just beat by the guy, there’s a tone of fondness in his voice.

A smile slips onto my face. “Aomine —”

“Hey, when are you gonna stop that?”

“Huh? Stop what?”

“We’re boyfriend and girlfriend,” he says. He shifts onto his side, opening his eyes as he does, to face me. “You can call me by my first name.”

I blink.

Aomine . . . Daiki?

I’ve always just called him Aomine. Not even with an honorific because he annoyed me so much before. He’s always called me Kaminari — I assume because it annoys me — and when we began to “date,” he continued because of the excuse that he now had the right to.

But to call him by his first name?

“Kaminari, come on.” He huffs. “I just got beaten for the first time in my life, and you’re worried about calling me by my first name?”

“It’s not that simple,” I snap at him. “Just because you —”

“Kaminari.”

I quiet down.

“I want you to.”

The words shoot straight through me . . . perhaps because it seems like he doesn’t often voice things in the way he just did. Things that he truly wants. Sure, he’ll order people around like he owns the place, but those aren’t things he truly wants. Now, what he just said . . . some part of me is telling me it’s from the heart.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay! I’ll do it.”

He shifts again, this time onto his elbows, like a waiting child, and stares straight at me, a glint in his eyes.

Silence envelops us again.

He says, “Any time now, Kaminari.”

“Daiki!” I blurt it out.

He smiles.

My heart jumps inside of my chest.

Something drives my body, then — I’m not entirely sure what it is — and I lean forward until our faces are inches apart. His smile falters for a moment.

I say, “I thought you’d be more disappointed.”

“That I lost?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, of course I am. I’m practically boiling inside with . . . this . . . feeling . . . I can’t even name it.” His fingers curl into a fist. But then he looks back at me. “But you just said my name. That’s not something I could ignore now, is it?”

I begin to lean back, but he grabs both of my arms, pinning them to my sides, and holding me in place. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t move.”

My body begins to tremble, just slightly, and I wonder if he can feel it. His fingers are warm against my bare skin. Even though it’s winter and it’s night and it’s cold, I feel hot — no, burning.

What . . . is this?

“Ao— I mean. Um. D-Daiki . . .”

“Mmm?” He rubs his fingers against my arms and I almost shiver at the touch.

“W-what are you doing?”

He frowns, looks up at me. Glances away. Looks at me again. Then, his hands drop from my arms, and I’m able to breathe again. He says, “Right. I’m sorry. Just . . . forget it.”

“Aomi— Daiki, I mean. Tell me. What’s the matter?”

He shakes his head and rises. I scramble up beside him. “I need to get home,” he says. “I’m exhausted. Do you have a ride?”

He’s . . . rejecting me?

I blink a few times, trying to swallow the hurt inside of me. “Y-yeah. Matsuzaki and Hana came with me.”

“Good, good . . . I’ll see you later, then.” He sounds distracted, and I wonder if the game is still on his mind. His first defeat. I suppose it is a bit much of me to ask him to spill his heart to me immediately after the loss.

I nod. “Okay. See you.”

He turns from me, and his fingers are tapping by his side with nervous energy, his body still humming from the game. I suddenly feel the strange urge to reach out to him again, to calm him, to ask him to stay, but I force myself to remain still.

The one thing I can’t manage is to look away from him. I watch his back the entire way until he disappears. He never looks back at me, though.


	13. Chapter 13

I try calling Aomine several times the next day. For the first half of the day, he doesn’t answer, and I’m unable to get any work done, and just lie around the house, an empty feeling inside of me.

I am . . . not quite sure how I feel about Aomine anymore.

He has challenged me in every way. Who I thought he was . . . I definitely don’t see that anymore. Or I at least can understand why he acted that way.  

Right now, I am constantly feeling the need to talk to him. And so I keep calling him. If he has his phone on him and is just ignoring me, he must be really annoyed. Angry, maybe? Did I say something wrong yesterday?

I dial his number again.

There’s a thump on the other end and my heart jumps inside of me when I realize he’s just picked up.

“Hello?” he says, sounding bored as usual, like he hadn’t just lost for the first time in his life yesterday.

“It’s me,” I say, a little breathless.

“Kaminari?”

“That’s right.”

“Oh, did you need something, then?”

“I — I —”

There’s silence on the other end.

I let out a breath. Take in a deep breath. Then, summoning everything inside of me, I say, “I have something I want to show you. Are you free to meet up?”

“Ehh . . . sure. I was just out, actually. I’ll be by your house in ten minutes.”

“Oh, okay, cool. See you then.”

I hang up before him, and my hands tremble against the phone. I did it. I asked him out. Well . . . not _out_ , but . . . whatever. I did it. And I’m going to show him. And he’ll be . . . I don’t know. But the point is, _I’m going to do it_.

In the few minutes that it takes him to arrive, I tidy up the house, even though there’s really no need because I doubt he cares. I take a brush through my hair, wrap it into a ponytail, and throw on a light-colored t-shirt and some stretchy pants. I also grab a jacket; I’m lucky because today is warmer than most of the last week, but it’s still a bit chilly out.

I spring for the door as soon as I hear the first few raps, and I open it so fast that I almost tumble straight into him. His hands reach out to study me and I hear him cluck his tongue.

“There you go again,” he says, “falling all over the place.”

I shake myself from his grip, my face hot. I feel like I’d normally have something to reply with, but I’m currently speechless as I stare up at him.

“A-ah,” I say. “Y-you’re here. D-D-D-Daiki.” I end up whispering the last word, my gaze darting downward.

“Don’t choke yourself,” he says, though there’s a note of amusement in his voice, and when I look up, his eyes appear warmer than usual.

“Ahh . . . I’ll try not to.”

“Did you say you wanted to show me something?”

“Eager for a surprise?”

His eyes narrow at me. “Depends on what it is.”

“You’ll like it. Probably.” I dash back inside for a moment to grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder before moving back to the door where he’s waiting. I push past him, and in a daring move, I grab his hand as I do, pulling him with me. Despite the cool weather, his hands are warm against mine, and I intertwine my fingers with his.

“Probably? I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Come on. Just hurry up.” I move faster, and he matches my pace easily. Soon, it’s more like he’s the one dragging me, and if it weren’t for my pride, I’d ask him to slow down.

“Where are we going anyway?” he asks.

“Part of the surprise,” I pant out.

He squeezes my hand and my heart jumps inside of my chest.

After a few moments, we reach the outdoor basketball court. He stares at it and a wrinkle forms on his brow. “You wanted to bring me here? I was just here with Tetsu.”

“What? That’s why you were out?”

“Yeah. He asked me to teach him how to shoot.”

“He can’t shoot?”

“He can’t do much actually.”

“Wow. Harsh.”

“Just the truth.” He shrugs.

“Oh.” I move away from him and pull out the basketball I’d brought with me in my bag. Matsuzaki had bought it for me, despite my protests, and I’ve been keeping it in my room ever since.

Aomine raises an eyebrow at the sight of the ball. “Are you wanting to play basketball?” he asks.

“That was kind of the idea,” I say in a small voice, holding the ball in my hands and rolling it around. Unlike the worn ball Matsuzaki, Hana, and I have been using, it feels new, odd, and foreign. “I wanted to play with you. I’ve been having Matsuzaki-senpai teach me the last few months. So I would at least be decent enough to be able to play with you. Obviously not beat you. Never beat you. I just want . . . to play with you.”

He’s wearing an odd expression on his face that I can’t decipher.

“Of course, I’m still not very good,” I say quickly. “I probably won’t even stand a chance against you. If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I just thought —”

“Sure.”

“Eh?”

“Sure. I’ll play with you. I’ve been wanting to anyway. Last night . . . it got me fired up.”

“Really?” My eyes widen and a smile stretches across my face. “That’s awesome!”

He shifts, and slides his jacket off before throwing it carelessly onto the bench. “Gimme the ball. I’ll go offense first.”

“Are you that eager to crush me?” I complain, but I comply and toss the ball over to him.

The ball looks so natural in his hands, I’m almost envious. I move over toward the hoop and bend my knees slightly, trying to remember everything Matsuzaki told me as Aomine faces me, dribbling the ball lazily, like it costs him no effort (I suppose it probably doesn’t).

I blink.

He dashes forward, and even though I know he’s as fast as lightning, his speed is something else when I witness it right in front of me. I move to block him, but he easily dodges past me, moving to the side, and leaping into the air. The ball flies through his hands and lands straight into the basket.

His head swivels toward me as the ball lands to the ground. “Is that what you call basketball?” he asks.

I glare at him. “I haven’t even gotten started. Besides, you know I’m no prodigy.”

“Right. You still trip over your own feet.”

I roll my eyes, and take possession of the ball.

“Do I need to give you a head start?” he asks, standing a few feet behind me.

“Stop teasing me,” I snap.

A low laugh emanates from him, and I almost drop the ball.

“Guard your basket and stop distracting me,” I say, nearly growling.

He laughs again, but he moves toward the hoop. Before he’s fully ready, I dash forward, the ball pounding against the ground, my heart thudding within my ribs, creating a strange rhythm together. His eyes widen slightly at my forwardness, but it doesn’t take him long to readjust. By the time I near him, he’s already in position, his hand outstretched to take the ball from me.

I begin to spin away from him, but anticipating my move, he takes a step forward, inhibiting my space and forcing me to pause and rethink my strategy. I dribble the ball for a few moments. He stares at me intently, and I have a feeling that he’ll know whatever I’m going to do, no matter what I try. And even if I do manage to surprise him, he’ll be able to react so fast, it won’t matter anyway.

There really is no beating this guy.

I smile.

Something flashes in his eyes. Apprehension?

I dart forward again, this time heading straight toward him. He stumbles back, and I continue forward. I expect him to move, steal the ball, or something like that — because, after all, there is no hope for me when I’m up against Aomine Daiki, the ace of the Generation of Miracles. So I thought I’d at least go out with a bang.

But instead of taking the ball from me, he continues to fall back, and I push forward. Until — he stops completely, and I ram into him full force.

We both fall downwards. He throws an arm out to brace the fall. The ball goes flying from my hands, and my arms flail as I land right on top of him. My breath goes out of me, but I’m not entirely sure it’s all from the impact.

“W-what are you doing, idiot?” I press my hands onto the concrete on either side of him and push myself up, rolling away from him as fast as I can. He simply stays on the ground, though his eyes follow me.

I bring my legs up, rest my chin upon my knees, and wrap my arms around them. “You’ve been acting weird,” I say. “Is there something wrong? Is it because of last night? Did _I_ do something?”

He heaves a sigh and sits up in one smooth motion. “It’s nothing you’ve done,” he says.

“Then what’s wrong? Are you . . .” I don’t know what to say.

He stares up at the sky. It’s beginning to darken at the edges. The shadows curve around him, enveloping the lines of his face, the folds of his clothes.

He says, “It wasn’t a lie.”

“What?”

“The thing I told your cousin once . . . I said I’d always had a crush on you. It wasn’t a lie.”

I stare at him.

For several moments, we just look at each other. His face . . . it’s sincere. It’s probably wearing one of the most sincere expressions I’ve ever seen on him.

I say, again, “What?”

“Sheesh. Don’t make me repeat it.”

Then, before I can react, he scoots in closer until he’s right beside me. I begin to shrink back, but then his hand is there, right behind my back and keeping me in place. I want to protest, I want to move away from him, but then I also want to just stay still, and let this moment continue.

He draws me nearer to him, and says, his voice sounding deeper, rougher than usual, “Close your eyes, Kaminari.”

I obey without thinking, and my eyelids lower.

His lips press against mine.

Shivers race up and down my back. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can’t — think.

They’re a little soft, a little rough at the same time. They move gently against my own, and for a moment, I actually sense that he’s a bit scared himself. A little tentative, a bit shy. I begin to smile, even as he kisses me, and he separates from me.

I open my eyes.

His are wide, staring at me. And he suddenly looks a lot younger, more boyish, than I’ve ever seen him before.

“Daiki,” I breathe out, and I think that’s the first time I haven’t tripped over his name. Which is even weirder, considering the situation. “Please, say something. Because — because, I don’t know what to say. And — and I really don’t understand any of this!” My hands begin to flap around uselessly.  

He reaches out and grabs them, taking them into his own, and rubbing the palms, almost absentmindedly. He says, “I like you. I kissed you. Because I like you. Is that clear enough for you?”

“You . . . and me . . . but . . .”

I gasp and press a finger to my lips, which are still tingling from where his just touched them.

My mind really can’t comprehend this well.

“So what was the whole boyfriend and girlfriend thing?” I demand. “Were you really actually enjoying that or what?”

He shrugs.

“Don’t give me that!” I yell. I wrench my hands out of his and wave my arms around frantically. “I — I don’t know how I feel about you yet, okay? And now you’ve pulled this on me, and it’s confusing me even more!”

“You don’t have to think about it right now,” he says. “I don’t mind waiting.”

I run a hand through my hair. “You . . . you’ve been waiting all this time, haven’t you?”

He blinks. “Sure, but it doesn’t really matter to me.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it’s you, isn’t it?” He shrugs again. “I’m willing to let you take your time.”

“That makes it sound like I’m really slow at everything.”

“No,” he corrects, “you’re just cautious. And because everything you hold in your hands is precious, you want to be careful with it.”

My heart flutters.

Aomine Daiki.

The boy who I hated at first. The boy who blackmailed me into being his girlfriend. The boy who I realized had another side to him. The boy who, slowly, I began to care for. The boy who . . . I might harbor feelings for?

I shake my head in frustration. I don’t know. How can I tell?

Then I glance down at my hands.

They’re trembling.

Quivering.

With . . . desire. With need. With the overpowering feeling of, _Is this really happening? Because if it is, if it is, I want to take it with these hands, and hold it forever in these palms. Cradle it within these fingers, and remember it with this touch._

I want this.

I look back up. His gaze hasn’t wavered from mine.

I say, “I suppose this doesn’t really change anything on the outside, does it? To everyone, we’ll still be dating. It’s just . . . us that have changed.”

His eyes grow bigger slightly as he realizes the meaning of my words, and then a small smile tugs at his lips. He reaches forward and wraps his large hands around mine. I stare down at them, our two hands intertwined, and can’t stop my own smile from appearing on my face.


	14. Chapter 14

I wake up the next morning with a strange fuzzing feeling in my stomach.

Yesterday . . . I kissed Aomine Daiki.

My fingers float up to my lips, the fuzzy feeling in my stomach growing, so much that I can barely feel anything else, even the feeling of my fingers against my lips, or the heat in my cheeks, or the whirl of my thoughts.

I kissed Aomine Daiki.

I might . . . like him. A lot, really.

A lot more than he or I can even understand.

I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. I’ve woken up earlier than normal. It’s a Monday morning. It’s a school morning. I’ll be able to see him today (provided he doesn’t skip). Something shivers inside of me, and I know that I won’t be able to go back to sleep, even if I try. I want to see him. I want to . . .  wrap my hand against his. I kind of might want to kiss him again.

I roll out of bed. And in the next two hours, I put more effort into my appearance that morning that I ever have before.

When Matsuzaki knocks on my door to walk me to school, I’m such a fit of nerves that I have to breathe in several moments before I go to open it.

His eyes widen at the sight of me. “Tsuchiya-san?” he says, astounded.

I nod.

“Is this for Aomine-kun?” he asks.

I nod again, because there’s no point in trying to deny it.

He says, “Wow. He’s going to be pleased.”

I flush with pleasure. “You think so?”

“Yeah. You . . . you look beautiful.”

My blush turns crimson. “T-thank you, Senpai.”

“Let’s get going, then, shall we? Don’t want to keep Aomine-kun waiting for . . . all this . . .” He almost seems at a loss for words.

For most of the way, the two of us walk in silence. Normally, it would’ve been unusual, but today, I am grateful for it. I am anxious to see Aomine, but I am also nervous, unsure of what he will make of me. Will he like it, or will he not notice it at all?

As we near the area that Aomine and I usually meet up, Matsuzaki says, “So . . . um, I’m going to take my leave here, then. Hana-chan said she’d make me a bento today . . . ” and disappears.

I’m not quite sure what that has to do with anything but I nod, barely noticing him, and continue forward. If Aomine ends up skipping today, I’ve decided I’m going to kill him.

But as I turn the corner . . .

There he is.

My breath escapes from me.

He squatted on the ground currently, holding his hand out to a stray cat whose face is extended to sniff his hand. His face is very calm, relaxed, and in that moment, it almost seems like there’s nothing else in the world. Just him.

“Daiki,” I say softly.

He starts, and the cat jumps, racing away.

“Oh! Sorry.”

“Kaminari,” he says, his voice a bit gruff sounding. “You’re early. And you scared —”

He looks at me.

Really looks at me.

His eyes widen noticeably. “Are you . . . wearing make-up?”

“I’ve worn make-up before,” I complain.

“Not like this.”

“No, not like this,” I admit.

“And your hair . . . you did something different with it, too.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I left it down.”

“Is that it? I guess you usually always do have it in a braid or ponytail or something.”

“Really observant of you.”

“You didn’t trip over my name again.”

“Progress, right?”

He smiles suddenly, and my heart begins to pound, a steady drumbeat. He closes the distance between us in a few swift strides, and clasps his hands over mine. The sudden heat between us ignites like a flare, and I suck in a breath. He, too, seems to be breathing a little shallower than usual.

“You’re here,” he murmurs.

“Uh-huh,” I say, unable to think of anything smarter to say.

“So . . . ,” he starts. “What did you think . . . of last night?”

I frown. “What part of last night?”

“Well . . . you know . . .”

“The kiss?”

He licks his lips. “Right.”

“You’re the one who kissed me, and now you’re getting embarrassed about it?”

My own cheeks are flaming, though . . .

He says, “Don’t say it like that . . . I was just . . . caught up in the moment?”

“You’re such a dork,” I say.

He lets out a low chuckle. “Don’t know what I can do about that.”  

“Well . . . I suppose it’s one of your more endearing traits.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Endearing?”

I blush furiously. “I — I mean that you have . . . some characteristics about you . . . that aren’t as . . . aren’t as —”

He kisses me.

His lips are softer than yesterday. Briefly, I wonder if he applied some lip balm. Briefly, I think that maybe I should, too. And then I’m caught up in the fact that _Aomine Daiki is kissing me_.

And that’s not something that happens every day.

His arm moves around my waist, warm even through my shirt. One of my hands go around his neck and the other combs through his hair, which is softer than I thought it would be. My stomach is a bowl full of butterflies now, and this feeling — it’s erupting inside of me, and I — I can’t stop it.

We separate, and both of us are breathing a bit harder than usual.

“You don’t need to explain to me,” he says, his voice a bit rough, but somehow still gentle.

“That’s right,” I say breathlessly. “Boyfriends and girlfriends . . . they’re just supposed to naturally understand each other, right?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“You think so?”

“I mean . . . I’ve never had a girlfriend before you. How should I know?”

“Oh, I suppose so. So . . . we’re just winging this, then?”

“Weren’t we always?” His eyes bore into mine, but this time, I enjoy the sensation, and stare right back at him, a silly grin on my face. “Besides,” he continues, “there’s nothing wrong with that. Some parts of life aren’t meant to be lived with a guidebook. Some things you just need to live through while taking risks, acting on your impulses, and not worrying about the consequences.”

“Wow. That’s surprisingly deep.”

He looks indignant.

I laugh and rap my hand against his chest. “Daiki, you have changed, haven’t you?”

He frowns.

I move closer to him and lay my head on his chest. His breath catches. Like always, he is firm. Immovable. But he is also warm and gentle, soft and caring.

* * *

He holds my hand as we walk into school. People barely glance at us, the shock of Aomine Daiki and Tsuchiya Kaminari dating having worn off long ago. The sight of us holding hands, while new, probably isn’t surprising.

But it’s a change for us. And no one knows exactly how much.

“Tsuchiya-san,” Sakurai says during art class. “Is something different between you and Aomine-san?”

I suppose that Sakurai may be a little more observant than the rest of the students. And he also probably knows Aomine and me better than the rest, too.

“Ah . . . it’s nothing, really,” I say. “Why do you say that?”

Sakurai glances over at Aomine, whose head is lying on the desk, and is emitting soft snores. The teacher has yet to catch him and I can’t feel bothered to wake him up, even though I normally would.

“You two are glancing at each other more than normal,” he says. “And you appear more . . .” He shrugs, a helpless expression on his face. “I don’t know exactly how to explain it.”

I give him a small smile. “Well, neither do I.”

His eyes widen a bit.

Just then, the teacher comes over and whacks Aomine on the head. He starts up with a yelp, and I have to bite back a laugh. Sakurai immediately begins to apologize for not waking him up earlier.

Maybe, though . . . the reason I didn’t wake him up is because he looks rather peaceful when he sleeps. And just a bit cute.

* * *

We go up to the roof that day, of course. It’s really quite bitter cold, though, and I almost regret it immediately.

“We’re going to have to stop doing this soon,” I mutter.

“It’s not that cold,” he says, but he draws his coat closer around him and I call him on his bluff, much to his dismay.

“It is that cold!” I say. “This year is turning out to be freezing! Do you know how much I hate the cold weather? This year . . . it’s going to be awful!”

“Well . . .”

He scoots closer to me, and I gasp as he suddenly throws his arm around me and draws me in so close that there’s barely any space between us. But now, my whole side is warm, everywhere he’s touching almost a feverish hot.

“Better?” he asks.

“Better,” I confirm.

I snuggle closer to him, a little awed by my audacity, but I feel comforted by his closeness. He rests his chin against my head and says, “You’re soft.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Well, your hair for one. And your skin.”

“Oh . . . then it’s a compliment?”

He turns his head so that our eyes meet briefly, and makes a face. “Of course it’s a compliment, silly.”

“Right, right. Then, you’re . . . warm.”

“Warm? That’s the best you can come up with?”

“It’s true!” I defend myself. “I mean, actually, you’re like burning hot. Like an oven. Or a furnace. A fireplace. The stove.”

“Aren’t those all really similar?”

“They’re kind of like synonyms, I suppose. But slightly different!”

“I don’t get your way of thinking.”

I sigh. “Whatever. You probably just don’t have the capability.”

“That’s . . .” He sighs and doesn’t even bother to finish his answer.

I smile to myself and close my eyes. I grip his shirt in my fingers and just revel in the amount of warmth I’m gaining from his body heat. Boys’ bodies really are something else.

Finally, I say, “Daiki . . . why me?”

“Huh?”

“I mean . . . why did you start liking me? And why did you ask me to be your girlfriend? At the very beginning, you even said you’d never like me.”

And I, too, thought that I’d never fall in love with him. Yet here I am . . .

“That was a lie,” he says easily. “You wouldn’t have agreed if you thought I liked you. Would you?”

“No.”

“And . . . I don’t know why it’s you. Not why specifically. If you ask me for just one reason, I’d never be able to think of one.”

“Then if I ask you to give me several?”

“Then you might be waiting a long time.”

“That doesn’t make sense. I’m not . . . like anything that . . . special or something. I’m just . . .”

“Kaminari.” He says my name carefully. “You were someone who looked at me differently than everyone else. Not because I was part of the Generation of Miracles and not just because I was someone who never did their work. You saw me as someone . . . who could be improved if I just tried.”

“Everyone can get better if they work toward it,” I say.

“See? That’s what I’m talking about. I know I annoyed you and that there was next to a zero chance that you’d ever see me like _that_ , but we kept getting paired together in school, so I couldn’t help it. I would watch you, and how you always worked hard, no matter what. And you didn’t put up with anything, not even me. I suppose that fascinated me. You spoke your mind, your truth, no matter how others reacted or thought.”

“Daiki . . .”

“Kaminari,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry. I never knew. I suppose . . . it’s true that I thought you were just lazy. That you didn’t respect anyone or anything. But I didn’t understand any of it . . . and I didn’t know . . . that there was so much more to you.”

“You don’t need to apologize. That was my own fault.”

We both take in deep breaths.

“So . . . what now?” I ask, and my voice sounds almost fragile in the frigid air.

“Now?” He smiles. “I can’t say I really know.”


	15. Chapter 15

“Matsuzaki-senpai.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve been a little more distant lately. Is something wrong?”

He stares at me for a few moments. Then he lets out a chuckle. “Wow, way to ask a question, Tsuchiya-san. No pretense or anything.”

“Oh. S-sorry.”

“No worries. I suppose . . . I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately.”

I nod. “I understand completely. Third term is a lot harder than I expected. Even Daiki’s working as hard as he can.”

Matsuzaki frowns slightly and turns his face from me as we walk down the street that will lead to the school — and where Aomine is waiting. “You two have gotten a lot closer lately,” he says.

“Hm? Yeah, I suppose so.”

“I always thought it was odd . . .”

I wait for him to continue, a sense of unease rising inside of me, but he doesn’t finish. “Yes?” I prompt.

 He starts slightly, like he’d forgotten he was speaking — or he hadn’t realized he was speaking out loud in the first place. “Oh . . . I was saying . . . um, you and Aomine-kun. I thought it was odd . . . even though you two were dating, and you two _seemed_ close . . . it was in a weird way. Not your typical boyfriend and girlfriend way. But now, that seems to have changed.”

I shouldn’t underestimate Senpai’s observance powers.

He runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “I know I shouldn’t say this . . . ah, never mind. I won’t.”

I consider asking him what he wants to say, maybe even insisting he say it, but in the end, I say nothing at all. Maybe it’s because he is close to the truth about Aomine and I, and I feel like if he presses, that I will spill it, the reality of the situation between us . . . or maybe because I don’t want to hear what he really wants to say.

* * *

“Finals are coming up, huh?” Aomine says, glancing at the pile of books I’ve laid out upon my desk.

“You know that perfectly well,” I say. “Stop sounding like it’s the end of the world.”

“Well, it pretty much is for everybody else.”

“If you keep working hard, they’ll pass by fine, and I’m sure your grades will thank you for it.”

“Fine, fine, I get it.” He slouches back into his chair, and I smile despite myself. He has been working hard, and I think I have Kuroko to thank for that — now that he knows he is no longer unbeatable, he can view things as a challenge again. And maybe . . . maybe it just helps to have a girlfriend who devotes a good chunk of her time to studying.

There’s a new connotation to that word now: girlfriend. And boyfriend. Before, it just seemed awkward and weird. But now . . . it seems special.

Later that day, Aomine decides that he’ll be walking me home all the way to my house.

“What about Matsuzaki-senpai?” I ask.

“Eh? What about him?”

“Well, he usually walks me home.”

“I don’t care what he does.”

“You’re so considerate. I’ll text him and let him know I’m going to go ahead and leave . . .”

As soon as I’m done sending the message, I can’t help but feel a little excited, though. It’s been a while since Aomine and I have walked the whole distance with just the two of us, and lately, Matsuzaki has been rather distant with me.

“Daiki,” I say, as we’re about a few minutes away from my house.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah . . . I’m not that great of a cook . . . and neither is Dad . . . but we can probably manage something.”

“You want . . . to introduce me to your parents.”

I nod. “I mean, technically, we _have_ been dating for a long time.”

“They don’t know anything?”

“Not really.” I give him a sideways look, trying to gauge his reaction.

He lets out a low laugh. “I suppose I don’t blame you.”

“What about your parents?” I ask him. “Have you told them about me?”

“I’ve mentioned you in passing. I don’t know if they’ve really paid attention.”

“In . . . oh, okay. Well, what do you say?”

“Sure, sounds good to me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

I grin and he grips my hand, a firm anchor to keep me in place.

* * *

“They probably aren’t home yet,” I say. “So . . . we can study until then. That’s what I usually do.”

“I never would’ve guessed.”

I throw him a look and shake my head. We head down to my room and he flops down onto my unmade bed when we get there. Marshmallow, who’s sleeping on the bed, opens one eye and glares at him. “Don’t go to sleep,” I say. “I’ll whack you with a textbook if you do.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you.” He yawns and closes his eyes anyway. “Honestly, it’s not even basketball season and they insist on working us to the bone.”

“At least you’re actually showing up to practice most of the time now.”

“Mmm. Does that make you happy?”

“It does, actually,” I admit.

A smile crosses his face, and I get an insane urge to trace it with my fingers, the way it tips the corners of his lips upward.

“Daiki,” I say. “Come on. We need to study.”

“We’ve been in classes all day already.” He opens one eye to stare at me.

“You are clearly not a good influence.”

“Never said I was.”

I force a frown. “I have to get a good grade on these . . . and then the finals . . . and entrance exams for next year . . .”

“Thinking ahead much?”

“It all affects your future.”

“I know that. But right now, you can relax, can’t you? It won’t hurt anything. Just a few minutes.”

I let out a sigh and place the textbook down. “Fine. Five minutes. Then, we’re working.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He sits up and opens up one arm for me. I hesitate for a moment, before I sit on the bed next to him, and he curls his arm around me, pulling me in.

I let out a breath. And close my eyes. This is nice . . . just relaxing after a long day at school . . . He strokes my hair in a slow, gentle rhythm and I feel oddly comfortable and safe, a feeling that I’m not quite sure I’ve ever experienced before.

“See?” he whispers. “Isn’t this much better than staring at a textbook?”

I find that I can’t form a proper response.

* * *

Sometime later, I jerk awake.

Wait, awake? I . . . fell asleep? What happened?

Last thing I knew, Aomine had me in his arms. And . . . now, I’m lying in my bed, the covers over me. It’s beginning to darken, shadows casting over my walls . . . and I hear voices outside of my room.

In my haste, the sheets get tangled around my legs, and I spend more time trying to get out of bed than I would have if I’d taken it at a slower pace.

Of course, it’s not unusual for Mom and Dad to be talking . . . but then, what about Aomine? And if I’m not mistaken, I think I hear his deep voice . . .

I burst through the door of my room and into the living room.

Mom, Dad, and Aomine sit around the room. And Dad’s laughing, and Mom has a smile on her face, and Aomine looks as comfortable as always.

And . . . they’re together? They’ve already introduced themselves?

“Mom, Dad,” I blurt out. “Daiki. W-what are you doing here?”

“Well, this is our house,” Dad says, raising an eyebrow.

“You invited me over,” Aomine reminds me.

“A-ah. That’s right. It’s just . . .”

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he says.

“You should’ve,” I say, my cheeks flushing. I rub my hands together. “Ah, have you already eaten dinner?”

“We were waiting on you,” Mom says. “Dad fixed something. It should still be warm.”

“You should’ve woken me,” I grumble again.

“You looked too cute when you were sleeping,” Aomine says.

My cheeks go an even brighter red. Mom and Dad just laugh. They clearly don’t care about Aomine’s open flirting.

* * *

Apparently, it didn’t bother Mom and Dad at all to come home and find a boy in their house. And, somehow, they like Aomine a lot. At least, their first impressions of him are a lot better than mine were.

I want to shake my head at the irony.

Later that night, after dinner, Aomine and I retreat back to my room while Mom and Dad go to the living room to watch a movie. He slumps onto the ground, tracing patterns into the carpet, while I remain standing, my hands hanging awkwardly at my side.

“I can’t believe I fell asleep,” I mutter.

He lets out a low laugh. “Are you kidding? I’m surprised you’re functioning. You’ve barely stopped studying at all lately.”

I glance at him. “But . . . finals . . .”

“Don’t give me that. Everyone deserves a break, most of all you. Besides, you’re going to do fine. I know it.”

I wish I could share his confidence.

He glances up at me. Then he says, “Sometimes, I worry about you.”

Of all the things I thought he’d say, I didn’t expect that.

Aomine? Worrying? About me?

“W-what?” I let out a laugh.

“It’s true,” he says. “You work so hard. Sometimes, I think you might burn yourself out. And then . . . I don’t know.”

My knees weaken and I crouch down in front of him. “Are you . . . is that what like happened to you?”

“Not exactly. I devoted myself to basketball, sure. But then . . . everything was just so easy. And nobody wanted to stand up against me. I found that I didn’t want to work hard at anything anymore.”

“That’s not my situation at all,” I say. “I don’t think —”

“You don’t understand,” he cuts in, and I lean back, a little shocked by the urgency of his words. “I know it’s not that similar . . . that we’re not that similar . . . but what I mean is . . .” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. I think he is unable to think of the right words, unable to articulate all he wants to say to me.

Something warm rises inside of me. Because even if I do not understand what point he is trying to get across, I understand something else: _he cares for me_. He’s worried about me.

I move forward and wrap my arms around him. A sharp breath escapes from him as I press my forehead against his shoulder, and squeeze my arms tighter against him. He is so warm . . . like a fire, a living light.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice soft, my eyes closing as I rest into him.

I feel his hands shaking at his sides before they come up to my shoulders and slowly push me away. “Kaminari,” he says, and his voice sounds almost strained. “Are you —”

“It’s okay,” I whisper to him. “I understand now. Well, I mean, most of it. Or all of it. I’m not sure, but it’s okay now. As long as you’re here with me, it’s okay.”

Another sharp intake of breath. Then he pulls me back into him, nearly crushing me against him.

“I . . . really, really like you,” he says, his breath tickling the top of my head.

My heart speeds up to an insane pace.

Does he expect me to say it back to him? Can . . . can I?

“Idiot,” I murmur, pressing my fingers against the folds of his shirt. “Don’t just go blurting that out of nowhere. It makes me . . . I mean . . . I kind of . . .” My cheeks are so hot he can probably feel them through the thin layer of his shirt as my face presses against his chest. “When you say it like that . . . it makes me really like you, too.”

“Only then?” His voice is slightly teasing.

“Idiot,” I say again.

His laugh is slow, deep, and I lift my head from his chest. He stares down at me, a look of contentment in his eyes that I don’t see very often. Suddenly, it strikes me that _I’m_ the reason for it.

“Kaminari,” he says.

I blink a few times. “R-right.”

He shakes his head at me, but then he smiles before he lowers his lips to mine.


	16. Chapter 16

It’s the day after finals. To commemorate the start of our winter break, Hana and I have congregated in Arakaki-san’s bookstore with two steaming mugs of coffee. She’s been telling me all the mistakes she thinks she made in mathematics, but how she thinks she did pretty well in English. Meanwhile, I regale to her of how my studying with Aomine seems to have paid off since he told me that he managed to finish all the tests in time and answer all the questions halfway decently.

It is only after we finish discussing school and various books that the conversation peters off, and a distant expression comes over Hana’s face.

“Hey, Kaminari. I was thinking . . . well, not really thinking. Maybe more so considering . . .”

I glance over at Hana, who bites her lip and glances down at the ground. “What’s up?”

“You and Aomine-kun, huh?”

“What?” My gaze sharpens, and smile flits across her face.

“Well, it just seems like you two are really happy lately.”

“And what does that have to do with you?”

“Me?” She squeaks.

“Yeah. Weren’t we talking about you?” I glance around the bookstore, which is unsurprisingly empty besides the two of us (and Arakaki-san somewhere in the back).

She frowns. “What gave you that idea?”

“C’mon,” I say. “I’m not that oblivious. You clearly just changed the subject.”

She attempts a smile again, but it appears more like a grimace. “You caught me. Okay.”

I wait, but she doesn’t continue. Sighing, I lean over the table and say, “So what’s bothering you? Is it about Matsuzaki-senpai?”

She starts, nearly spilling her coffee. I give her a knowing look. “H-how did you —?”

“Hana. Like I said, I’m not that oblivious. Do you like him?”

She chews on her lip. “Well . . . yeah, I guess I do. But the thing is . . . I don’t think he’d ever notice me.”

“What do you mean?”

It’s her turn to stare at me. “I mean,” she says, her voice a little disbelieving, “he’s obviously in love with you.”

I wrap my hands around my coffee cup. It’s not warm anymore; we’ve been sitting here for a while, talking about some useless school stuff, some books . . . and now, it’s gone cold. I say, “Do you really think so?”

“You’ve seen it, too, haven’t you? Your reaction says enough. If you didn’t suspect it yourself, you’d be denying it, wouldn’t you?”

Honestly, I’m not really sure. Ever since Daiki and I’ve gotten closer, Matsuzaki has gotten more distant. I’ve never been good with romance; the few things I know come from reading my novels. But does that mean he doesn’t appreciate the relationship I have with Aomine? Taking a sip of the lukewarm coffee, I say, “The thing is, even if Matsuzaki-senpai does like me . . . well, I like Daiki.”

Hana’s eyes widen. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say something like that. I mean, that you like someone. And then call them by their first name. That’s . . . Aomine-kun’s pretty amazing, I guess?”

I blush, not realizing how it’d sounded. “I suppose so.”

She sighs and swirls the liquid inside of her cup. “But you’re right. I’ve seen the way you and Aomine-kun look at each other. Matsuzaki-senpai really has no chance with you. That’s what you’re trying to tell me, isn’t it?”

I nod. “You should tell him how you feel.”

“I don’t think I can.” She swallows. “Senpai . . . he’s so amazing. Great at everything. Smart and talented. I’m just —”

“Hana,” I cut in. “You’re amazing, too. I mean, you can bake awesome desserts, of course. And you’re really good at craftsy stuff. But more than that, when you put your mind to it, you can work really hard at things. You’re really supportive, dedicated, and talented at a bunch of things I can’t do. You —”

“Kaminari. Stop.”

I blink. Hana fixes me with a look. Then, standing up, cup in hand, she says, “I may have a reason to tell Matsuzaki-senpai how I feel. I understand now. Thank you.”

* * *

Hana and I part shortly afterward, going our separate ways. I return home on my own, and when I enter my room, I stare around for a few moments. It feels kind of empty, a little bare of . . . something.

I move over to my nightstand, and reach into the drawer where I’d stashed the romance novel — the one that started it all. Flipping it open, I turn the pages until I find where I’d left off. I still haven’t forgotten the plot or the characters, but now they feel a bit more distant, since I haven’t been reading it consistently.

A little while ago, I felt like I couldn’t read it, because I had some of my own romantic troubles. Maybe not all of them have been solved yet, but I’ve been shown some of the happiness and contentment that can come out of being in a relationship — and having someone you hold dear with you.

I begin to read. And before I know it, I’ve been sucked inside once again.

* * *

Mom and Dad return later that day. I’ve just finished the book when I hear a knock on my door.

“Come on in,” I call out, and Mom enters.

“Kaminari,” she says, and she eyes me laying down my book. “Reading?”

I nod.

She blinks a few times. “That’s nice,” she says. “It’s good for you to have a break. You’ve been working hard lately. Anyway, your dad and I thought it might be nice to have a little family outing for once. Would you like to go get some dinner?”

“Sure,” I say, thinking of my empty stomach. “That sounds great.”

* * *

The next few days pass without incident. I don’t see much of Matsuzaki-senpai — or Hana for that matter — but Aomine and I spend plenty of time together.

I suppose since we’re now “officially” dating, boyfriend and girlfriend, in like or in love or whatever, we enjoy being together and try to see each other as much as possible. If you told me a few months ago that I would look forward to being with Aomine Daiki, I would’ve laughed in your face. But now . . . now, I do.

My family has always loved Christmas, and this year is particularly special. For the first time, it’s not just going to be us three (and sometimes Hana — her family is not the biggest on Christmas, so sometimes she’ll spend it with us), but Aomine, Hana, and Matsuzaki-senpai as well.

When I asked them respectively, Aomine said he’d immediately go, as long as my dad wasn’t cooking. I just laughed, making no promises. Hana replied that of course she’d attend, since most of her family was going out of town for the holidays anyway (her parents despise snow). And Matsuzaki, when I asked him, grinned, clearly thrilled. Since he recently transferred, his family is still back in Osaka. They offered to pay for him to come visit them during the break, but he’d refused, saying he’d rather focus on his studies. In other words, he thought he was going to spend Christmas alone, and is delighted to be coming.

Christmas has always been one of my favorite holidays, only topped by New Year’s. I love spending time with my family, the people I love, and seeing how everything becomes brighter on that specific day, even if it’s only for a little while, always warms my heart.

The idea that Aomine, Hana, and Matsuzaki are coming as well makes my head spin with excitement.

Of course, Mom and Dad aren’t entirely willing to give me up to my friends, so they suggested on having the three over just for Christmas Eve, and then spending actual Christmas Day with them. I readily agreed to that. But then the idea also made me slightly uncomfortable, because . . . isn’t Christmas Eve supposed to be more of the couples’ part of Christmas? If so, what does that mean for me, Aomine, Matsuzaki, and Hana?

If only I knew.

* * *

They’re due to arrive at six, so Mom, Dad, and I spend most of the day cleaning up the house, then decorating it, making a whole batch of all sorts of foods, and attempting to make the following night perfect.

When the bell rings, I nearly jump from the couch, I’m so tense. I want this night to be just right, especially for Aomine and me.

“Hello!” It’s Hana, who is always quite punctual. She’s brought a Christmas cake, which is sure to outshine the one Dad made (I’m not quite sure if his even counts as your traditional Christmas cake).

I try to keep the disappointment from my face, but she spots it right away, and grins.

“Hoping to see Aomine-kun instead?” she says cheekily.

I roll my eyes, but take the cake from her, and let her in where she immediately flings off her coat and throws it on top of a chair. She’s long since made this place her home.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door, and I open to see Matsuzaki. “Hey,” he says, smiling brightly. “You told me not to bring anything, but I couldn’t help myself.” He uncovers what he’s holding in his hands, and I let out a gasp.

Mom approaches from behind me, and I feel her eyes widening. “Oh, that’s so beautiful!” she says.

It’s a mini Christmas tree. Made out of paper and glitter and some golden tinsel. There’s a jewel-like star at the top, and at the cardboard base, several presents to adorn it. Clearly, he made it, and clearly, it’s a work of art.

“That’s amazing,” I say. Hana hovers behind me, and I nudge her not-so-gently. She grunts, but doesn’t say a word. To her credit, she at least attempts a smile in his direction, though, to which he returns with full strength and a cheerful greeting.

From the kitchen, Dad saunters into the room, his hands swinging about. “Hey, everybody!” he says. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

Hana wrinkles her nose and shoots me a gaze. I shrug helplessly.

“What, Aomine-kun isn’t here yet?” Dad stares around at the small crowd of people in the family room.

As if his words had summoned him, there’s a knock on the door right then. I nearly jump out of my skin and dash to the door — of course, I trip and fall forward, knocking my head on the sound wood.

I barely feel the pain, though, and straighten, twisting the handle to let him in. 

His hands are in his pockets of a dark medium-sized coat. He has the usual air of boredom about him, even though he didn’t have to wait at all. When he sees me, his eyes focus squarely on me. A corner of his lips lift.

“Tch,” he says. “Did you just smack into the door?”

I flush. “H-how did you —?”

He holds up a finger. “I heard it.” A second finger. “And right here.” Two fingers reach out and brush my forehead. “Your skin’s red. Geez, you’re such a klutz.”

I _was_ planning on slapping his hand away, but for some reason, I find my fingers wrapping around his instead, and pulling them to my cheek. We’re both still for a moment.

Then —

“Are you guys coming in? Or are you just gonna hang at the door all night long?”

It’s Hana’s sarcastic voice.

I jerk away from Aomine, my cheeks going bright red. “Oh, sorry. Um —”

“Dinner’s ready!” Dad sings.

And that is how the evening starts.

* * *

Dinner is strange. Not just the dishes (which are admittedly _interesting_ but not necessarily _bad_ ), but the fact that I’m eating dinner with not only my parents, but my closest friends. On Christmas Eve. It’s almost surreal.

Matsuzaki charms Mom and Dad, and the three of them laugh constantly at their end of the table. Hana probes Aomine for information about his life, to which he’ll answer as sparingly as he can, surprisingly tolerant of her pestering.

After we’ve stuffed ourselves full (our taste buds somehow getting used to Dad’s food) and have gobbled down Hana’s cake, Mom and Dad stand up from the table and take our plates to wash them.

Matsuzaki also stands up, stretching. “Wow, that was great,” he says. “Awesome cake, Hana-chan.” She blushes profusely. He continues, “Say, you guys want to play some games? I have some fun ones over at my house. I could stop by really quick and get them.”

“That sounds great,” I say. “I’ll go with you.”

A smile flits across his face. His gaze darts toward Aomine, but he doesn’t say anything further.

“We’ll be right back,” I say, throwing on my coat.

“It’s just a few steps away,” Matsuzaki teases.

“It’s cold out there!”

He laughs and opens the door for me.

When we reach his house, it’s occurred to me that I’ve never been there before — and that we’ll be alone. I wonder if this should make me uncomfortable.

His apartment doesn’t have a lot of personalization, and it’s rather bare, with not a lot of furniture. It’s not too messy, not too tidy. I smile when I see a basketball by the couch.

“Hey, Tsuchiya-san.”

I start at the sound of my name. “Matsuzaki-senpai?” I start, staring at him.

He looks down at the ground, wringing his hands. “I — I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to ask you this tonight. I thought I promised myself — but seeing you and Aomine-kun —” He lets out a small, almost strangled laugh. “I mean, it’s _Christmas Eve_ , so I gotta make my move, yeah?”

I take a step back, my mind whirling. Is this what they call a confession? “Matsuzaki-senpai, wait —”

“Tsuchiya-san, please.” Matsuzaki gazes at me in a pleading way. “Can you please just tell me —”

Just then, the door bursts open, and we both jump.

“Stop right there!”

Hana nearly shouts the words. I stare at her, wondering why she’s here, and Matsuzaki just looks dazed at her appearance.

She completely ignores me, though, and looks straight at Matsuzaki, sticking her chin up and facing him as if he’s some giant she needs to defeat. Maybe he kind of is.

“I know what you’re about to say,” she says. “I knew I shouldn’t have let Kami-chan go with you alone. I’m just glad I got here in time.” She holds up a finger and points it straight at him. “But I’m not going to let you continue any further!”

He looks, to put it plainly, stunned. While most of us know Hana as a fairly forward person, I don’t think he’s ever heard her speak this way to him before.

“For the first time in her life,” Hana continues, “Kami-chan really, really likes someone. I mean, she calls Aomine-kun by his first name! Do you even _see_ how she looks at him? And he reciprocates it, too! So don’t you _dare_ ruin that! I won’t let you.”

She’s breathing hard, and her cheeks are flushed, her eyes dilated and wide.

“Hana,” I whisper.

Her eyes dart to me for a moment, but then she focuses back on Matsuzaki, who hasn’t replied to her at all — I think he’s in some sort of shock. She takes in a deep breath. “If it’s a confession that you want. Then — then I —”

She’s close to hyperventilating. Probably running on fumes now. I should intervene, but I want to hear what she’s going to say, what she’s going to do next.

She swallows. “I like you, Matsuzaki-senpai. A lot. Probably more than I should. So there. Don’t get in Kami-chan and Aomine-kun’s way. They’re happy the way they are. I’m sorry you have unrequited feelings. I kind of know what they’re like.”

And with that, the room falls into silence.

Then, “W-what are you talking about?” Matsuzaki is staring at Hana, surprise clear on his face. “Did . . . did you think I liked Tsuchiya-san?”

As one, Hana and I look at each other, wonder across our faces.

Matsuzaki laughs. He actually has the nerve to _laugh_. “Don’t be silly. I’d never go after someone with a boyfriend. And I know plenty well how much Aomine-kun and Tsuchiya-san care for each other. She learned a whole sport for him.” His eyes zero in on Hana. “No . . . I like you. And I was just trying to ask Tsuchiya-san if she ever thought you could return my feelings.”

Hana’s mouth drops open (mine probably does, too). Then she spins on her heel and dashes out of the room, all of this clearly being too much to handle.

I say, “You should go after her.”

He doesn’t argue, but leaves just as quickly as she did.

* * *

Briefly, I consider looking for the games he was talking about, but then I think that Aomine probably won’t want to play them anyway. So I just return to my apartment, where Aomine’s lounged on the couch, his eyes closed (what else).

“Hey,” I say, and I nudge his leg with my own.

He opens one eye. “Where are the others?” he asks. “Tamura-san just rushed off without a word.”

“Ehh . . . they have some . . . stuff to deal with.”

He grunts, but doesn’t press further.

The next thing I know, though, he’s swinging his arm around me, and pulling me down into the couch next to him. I let out a small gasp, but can’t contain the smile that crosses my face. His arms still around me, he buries his face into my shoulder, and just holds me like that.

“I missed you,” he says.

“It’s only been a few minutes.”

“Mmm.”

I have noticed that he’s gotten more comfortable with telling me how he feels. In little ways — or in big ways, perhaps. Ways that, regardless of the degree of their meaning, make my heart pound each time.

“Where’s Mom and Dad?” I ask, trying to distract myself from my speeding heartbeat.

“Dunno.”

I roll my eyes. Then I ask, “Why were you late?”

“I wasn’t _that_ late. Sheesh, are you gonna like bug me each time if I’m tardy even two seconds?”

 “Maybe,” I tell him, grinning.

He laughs into my shirt, and squeezes me. Then he moves his head up to look me in the eyes. Shifting one arm away from me, he reaches inside his pocket and draws something out. “It was this,” he says.

It’s a little wrapped box. The wrapping paper’s a bit crinkled from being in his pocket and it’s obvious that it was never a first-rate job in the first place, but I still smile, delighted at the sight of it. “You got me something?” I say. “I . . . I didn’t get you anything.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he says. “Open it.”

I comply, taking the little box in my hand. I carefully rip the paper, trying not to tear it too much, and I hear him sigh. I pause. “What?”

“Are you always so precise?” he asks. “Just rip the whole thing off.”

I ignore him and continue to open the present in my own way (who cares if it’s more . . . turtle-ish?). When I’m done, I open the box to find a necklace with a silver lightning bolt hanging down. It gleams in the light of the room, polished to perfection.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, holding it up. “I love it. Where did you get it?”

“Satsuki told me I had to get something,” he grumbles. “Like, two hours before I was supposed to come.”

“You went shopping?”

“Is that surprise I hear?”

“I never thought you’d go shopping for anything other than basketball shoes,” I say. He shrugs, like he didn’t think so either until now.

“I love it,” I say again. “Thank you. Will you put it on for me?”

He nods, and takes the necklace in his hands, while I twist around, holding my hair up.

I wait several moments, before — “What’s with this stupid clasp?” he mutters. “It’s tiny. I can’t even get it open.”

I laugh, let my hair drop, and turn back around. “It’s probably because you have such large hands,” I say. He shoots me a look. Taking the necklace from him, I undo the clasp, and resume my original position. He drapes the chain over my head, and — once again, fumbles with the clasp. But he’s actually able to get it done after a few moments.

I don’t really mind, though, because his fingers keep brushing my skin. And they’re warm.


	17. Chapter 17

The atmosphere in our motley group has changed somewhat, I observe, the day after Christmas when Aomine, Matsuzaki, Hana, and I have decided to meet together at a local mall. For one, Hana and Matsuzaki seemed to have switched personalities . . . well, that’s pretty much it. Hana seems to shine wherever she goes, throwing her words to whomever will listen to her — her boldness and sarcasm does not go amiss (it’s really a wonder she could’ve held it all in around Matsuzaki).

As for Senpai . . . well, he’s mostly quiet. Speaks when spoken to, mostly in short, startled words, like he’s been called in to answer a question while sleeping in class.

And he can’t stop staring at Hana.

I’m not quite sure what transpired between the two of them.

However, if I was to guess, I would say that because Hana finally got the guts up to fully confess, she is feeling more confident in herself than ever before. She’s always been a bit uncomfortable around boys, especially those she likes. With Matsuzaki, I wasn’t quite sure she’d ever be able to tell him . . . but she did. For me . . . and I suppose for herself, too. But I’m glad that she did, because now he can see her for who she really is. And she’s amazing.

As for Matsuzaki, apparently, he’s always been interested in Hana. Except he’s actually really shy with girls he likes, which is why he began to get close to me as a friend first. What Hana and I interpreted as interest in me was just him stewing over his feelings. He saw Aomine and I growing closer and thought he better get a move on, but couldn’t figure out how to.

What a misunderstanding.

As the four of us walk around the mall, chattering and enjoying the sights (still decorated for the holidays), I wrap my hand around Aomine’s. He shoots me a smile and tightens his hand around mine. His hand is much larger; it seems to cover mine completely, swallowing it whole.

I never expected this.

I don’t think any of us did.

To be where we are now, standing and laughing together . . . it’s something that no one could predict.

I think of the future, of the myriad of possibilities before us . . . there are so many options and variables . . . the probability that we’ll still be together in the future is very slim. But for right now, I think, it’s okay. It’s okay if I don’t know what my future will hold. Because right now? Right now, I have my friends, and I have Aomine right by my side.

I am happy and content, and that’s all that really matters.

* * *

“You’ve mentioned that New Year’s is your favorite holiday, right?” Aomine says, leaning back on the couch in my apartment.

“Yeah,” I say. “It is. Though Christmas is great, too. What’s your favorite holiday?”

He ignores my question and says, “Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

I blink a few times. “Uh, no. Usually I just stay up to midnight with my parents. We watch a few movies or something . . . do you want to come over? Dad might be fixing something, though,” I add as a warning.

He smirks. “No, I was actually wondering . . . if you wanted to do something. With me.”

“With you? Just you?”

“Just me,” he says, clarifying.

The idea sends a thrill up my spine. “Yes,” I breathe out. “I’d love to. What do you have in mind? We could, like, go to a shrine or something! I mean, that’s, like, so cliché, but it’s really fun. I’ve done that with my parents a few times, but not in a long while . . . but of course, we can do whatever you want to do.”

“Sheesh, take a breath, Kaminari.” He rolls his eyes. “And sit down, for goodness’ sake. You look like you’re going to hyperventilate.”

I flush, and flop down onto the couch next to him. He immediately reaches out and pulls me closer; I shiver, a still little unused to his proximity.

“I don’t care what we do,” he says. “Whatever you want is fine with me.”

I grin. “Sounds great.”

* * *

The next day, an hour before Aomine’s due to pick me up, I dive into my closet to find the perfect outfit. Of course, seeing as it is winter, I’ll be wearing a coat over it, but I still want to impress him. Eventually, I settle on a warm but pretty sweater dress. The dress is a light blue color, long-sleeved, and reaches down to below my knees. I pull out some brown boots and, of course, the necklace Aomine gave me. After coordinating my outfit, I start on my make-up, then do my hair up in a bun, before fixating it with a fancy pin.

Just as I’m finished, the doorbell rings. “Hang on!” I call.

I open the door.

He doesn’t look that much different. Or I mean . . . even if he knows this is a date, it’s obvious he hasn’t bothered to dress up at all. Not that I care that much.

His eyes rake up and down my body and I blush. He says, “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“You ready to go, then?”

“Yep.”

He offers me his hand, and I take it.

* * *

“We haven’t gotten any snow yet this year,” I muse as we make our way to the shrine.

“Do you like snow?” he asks.

“Eh . . . not really. I mean, it’s pretty. But it’s so cold! I hate the cold.”

“Mmm. Yeah, I kinda got that idea.”

I grin. “It’s great that you’re so warm. I don’t know what I would have done if my boyfriend had turned out to be some sort of icicle.”

He frowns. “So are you only dating me for my body’s heating qualities?”

“Maybe,” I say slyly.

He shakes his head, but smiles anyway, squeezing my hand.

The walk to the shrine is freezing, but I somehow manage to make it with him beside me. The night is dark, but all around decorative lights are shining, all different colors.

It’s almost perfect — which is, of course, why they show up.

We’re almost to our destination when I see them. I stop short, and Aomine gives me a quizzical look.

I haven’t thought about it in so long; I thought I’d forgotten, but now that I’m seeing them again, the memory is burned into my mind, as fresh as if it was yesterday. _Nothing happened,_ I repeat to myself. _Nothing happened, so you don’t have to worry about anything._

The two college boys that had once harassed me are on the same street, just a little ways ahead of us, near a stand of charms. Aomine catches me staring at them and his gaze hardens. At that moment, as we’re passing, the guys choose to look up and spot me.

They haven’t forgotten either.

“Hey, you’re that book chick,” the first one says, a grin on his face. His eyes narrow at Aomine. “Who’s this?”

“I’m her boyfriend,” Aomine says shortly. “And you better remember that.”

I glance up at Aomine, but he’s only staring at them, most likely testing if there really is something such as a “death glare.”

“Oh-ho,” the second one says, and his eyes glance toward me again.

Aomine lets out a noise of anger and he slings his arm around me, pulling me close to him. “I know what you did to her,” he says to them, his voice rough and full of . . . protectiveness? For me? “I was there. I saw it. Don’t you dare ever come close to her again.”

While I’m processing the fact that my savior from long ago might’ve very well been Aomine Daiki, the two guys glance at each other, and begin backing away. There must be something in Aomine’s eyes, something they don’t care for and aren’t willing to fight against, because they mutter to themselves, and finally turn away.

His arm still around my shoulder, Aomine begins leading me away from them at a brisk pace. I can feel the anger steaming off of him and I almost want to smile.

“Was that . . . another thing you did for me?” I say after a few minutes of silence and Aomine’s huffing.

“Huh?” he says, squinting down at me.

“You’re really quite overprotective, aren’t you?” I say. “Did you . . . did you ask me to be your girlfriend because of them?”

His eyes shutter closed for a moment and our pace starts to slows (good thing, too, because my legs were starting to ache; I can’t keep up with his long stride). 

“Yeah,” he eventually says. “I wanted to keep you safe. I liked you. And I didn’t like seeing other guys hitting on you. I didn’t want another guy asking you out. So I did it first.”

I let out a laugh. “In a very roundabout way.”

He grunts, and says nothing more, but my heart warms. With him here, I don’t think I’ll have any bad memories anymore.

When we reach the shrine, there are already an abundance of people there. Stands are erected at the sides, selling amazake and mochi and other assorted goods. People stroll around, whether it be families or couples or friends, waiting for the New Year. Some are already in line for the shrine.

“Would you like some food first?” I ask. “Or would you rather get in line?”

“Either is good for me.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, I’m hungry, so buy me something.”

He hums in response, but his hand tightens around mine as he navigates us through the thick crowd and toward the nearest food stand.

Equipped with some warm amazake and kagami mochi, we make our way to the rapidly growing line. Midnight is only half an hour away now and people are getting antsy.

As he sips his drink, Aomine turns to me and says, “So, why is this your favorite holiday?”

I consider for a few minutes before answering. “I suppose . . . I like the thought of something ending, but something beginning at the same time. I like the idea that you can look back at the past year, at all you’ve accomplished, but still look to the future, of all that things you can hope to achieve.”

“That sounds like you.”

I frown. “Is that a compliment or —?”

“It’s a compliment. For sure. You are . . .” He pauses, searching for the right words. “You are one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. So it makes sense to me that you think that way. You want to look back while looking ahead. You’re smart in that way. Some people . . . they just dwell in the past or the future, or sometimes they just concentrate on the present. But you want to focus on both. I think that’s smart. I think that’s you.”

I take a step back, a little awed.

A compliment indeed.

“T-thank you,” I whisper.

The next few minutes pass in silence as I digest his words. Finally, though, I ask, “So what is _your_ favorite holiday? You never answered.”

“Eh? Oh. Well, Valentine’s Day, then.”

I start. _“Valentine’s Day?”_

“Sure. I’ll get chocolate from you, right?”

I stare at him. He stares right back. Then we both start laughing.

“Sure,” I say through giggles. “I’ll make you chocolate. I can’t promise it’ll be good, but I’ll try. I’ll have Hana teach me even. But you have to promise to get _me_ loads of chocolate on White Day.”

“Sure thing.” He holds up a fist. “It’s a promise.”

I grin, and bump my fist against his. “Any chocolate’s fine with me. White chocolate, milk chocolate, dark chocolate, red chocolate . . .”

“Red chocolate? Is that even a thing?”

“Sure. It’s dyed.”

He stares at me like I’m crazy.

The line inches forward, moving as slowly as midnight seems to be. But as midnight gets closer and the line gets shorter, I find my pulse quickening.

I’m here with Aomine. I’m about to start a new year with him — what a better time to spend with someone you love?

Someone I love. I almost laugh. Who would have ever thought?

I love Aomine Daiki.

I should tell someone.

I should tell him.

So I do.

I stand on my tiptoes, until my lips are right near his ears, and I whisper only to him, _“I love you.”_

Just then, everyone begins to cheer, and I jump back. I trip over the ground, almost falling over, but his hand darts out and catches me. His eyes stare into mine, blank.

For a moment, some insane part of me wonders if they all heard me and are entertained by the fact that I just confessed my love to him. But then my rational side catches up, and I realize that . . . it’s January the First. It’s a New Year.

And I just told Aomine Daiki I loved him. 

He’s still staring at me, so intently I can do nothing but look back. His arm is around me, too, and gently he pulls me back up so I’m straight and facing him. Then he leans in and says, his voice low and gentle, “I love you, too. Kaminari.” His lips brush the edge of my ear, then trail down my check before finding my lips. They hover there for a few moments before he moves them away.

I gaze at him, eyes wide. He smirks and says, “We’re blocking the line.”

I start, and realize that the line has, indeed, moved quite a bit up in front of us. Flushing hard as I realize that everyone probably just saw us kiss, I scurry forward. Aomine saunters after me, hands in his pocket, not a care in the world.

When it’s our turn to face the shrine, we both bow twice, clap twice, then bow again. I wonder what Aomine is thinking.

My mind is still a little frazzled from the kiss, but I manage to say a hurried prayer about hoping to have a good year . . . with him. And that’s all I can really think of.

After we leave the shrine, we pass the fortune stands. Aomine snorts at them (something about an old teammate at his middle school), but I manage to convince him to get some.

“Aha, look!” I say as I open mine. “I got great blessing! That’s the first time I’ve ever gotten one. What did you get?”

Aomine sends me a sideways look, then just sighs and hands his over.

_Great curse._

I start laughing before I can help myself. He shoots me a glare and I promptly shut up.

“I get some degree of curse each time,” he mutters. “Somehow Midorima always gets a blessing . . . Kuroko, too . . . I just have rotten luck with these type of things.”

I laugh again, despite myself, and hand it back to him. “Look, mine says that I’ll have a productive year, make many new acquaintances, and where my love life is concerned, have a steady and happy relationship. That sounds all great to me! What does yours say?”

He half grumbles as he reads off his fortune of losing a money investment, being betrayed by a coworker, and running into a storm of personal hurdles.

“But look,” I say, “if we stick together, it will all be good. If I’m super lucky, then I’ll balance out your bad misfortune.”

When he stares at me, clearly not understanding, I take his fortune back from him, and then tie mine and his together. “See?” I say. “Now they balance each other out. Maybe we’ll just have an ordinary year now, but that’s fine with me.” I grin. “’Sides, losing money, being betrayed, and personal problems really are no fun. Especially if you’re alone. So I’ll stick with you. And things’ll work out.”

I hold out the two fortunes tied together in a knot toward him. For several seconds, he just stares at them. Then he says, “You keep it.”

“Huh?”

“I feel better knowing my fate’s in your hands.”

“That’s almost . . . poetic.”

He rolls his eyes and sticks his hands back in his pockets. “Well, then, the day’s a’wasting. You still got places to go? I mean, I got money to spend. Provided I don’t lose it all in some investment.”

I let out a laugh. “Sure, sure. I mean, it’s after midnight, but why not?”

I loop my arm through his, and we head off.

To what, I have no idea, but there’s a certain charm to that, too.

And so, as we walk through the night, the two opposites, luck and misfortune, thunder and lightning, I wonder . . . maybe that’s not so bad either.

Maybe there are some things that are meant to be together, no matter the original friction or subsequent outcome. But maybe, if you never know if it’s okay — for you to be together, for you to create a storm together — that’s all right, too.

After all, a thunderstorm is kind of beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who made it to the end! I hope you enjoyed this rather cliche story with a rather uncooperative canon character. I really had fun writing it.   
> ~ J. Dominique


End file.
